“I write for the same reason I breathe – because if I didn’t, I would die.” – Isaac Asminov

I’m lying in my bed, fresh out of a french chapter 2 test, restless and uneasy. I want to write something brilliant and witty. I want to write something inspiring. I want to write something affective. I want to write the confusion and chaos in my soul and my mind, I want it to see it in words. I want to see the words, and I want to calm the calamity. Sobbing, bawling, crying, these things haven’t been affective to purge myself of this confusion. And maybe writing will.

I’m told by the powers that be (my parents) that I need to cease my constant negativity. And of course, they’re right… But day to day, not knowing how I will function or feel, it’s such a struggle. When my mind has lassoed control over everything, my body, my heart, my soul, and traps me, I can’t find a way out. I need to find a way out, but I can’t.

The medications have been making a valiant effort. In my naiveite, I had assumed that the first combination of medications would magically fix everything, and it did, for a short period of time. But I was looking for a miracle, and truthfully, I’m not sure I believe in miracles. Especially after the medications were changed for the 3rd time in 4 weeks.

I know what I need to do. At this very moment, I can see a light at the end of a very dark and slightly stinky tunnel. But it’s just this moment. I’m living in the fear that I’ll lose this grip I have, this hold on reality, as I do so regularly.

There was talk of me transferring to another school. A school closer to home. So I would have to fight this battle so far away from the people that love me the most. So I wouldn’t feel so alone in a world that I can no longer exist in, at least in the way in which I was accustomed. No alcohol. No drugs. No staying out late. In a burst of power worthy of a Rocky Balboa brass fanfare, I declared that I would fight to stay here at this school. I was accepted early decision, goddammit, they practically chose me to be a member of this elite private liberal arts school. I’m finally settling here. I won’t give up hope.

I was speaking to my brother on the phone the other night, and he tempered my uneven breathing and my sobbing telling me to just hold on, hold on and relax, and breathe, and hold on. Hold on. I wish I could see what I was holding on to. He spoke to me of an inner strength he saw that I had, but I can’t feel it. I’m floundering. There’s no metal pole to grasp onto, no hand to squeeze tightly. I can hold on to myself, but I’m not sure what is left of myself to hold onto.

I’m seeing doctors in the area, and I hope, hope against all odds that things will start to get better quickly. That they will know what to do with my illness. That they’ll find the right balance of medications. I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been before in my entire life, and I need things to get better.

And truth be told, there are good things going on in my life. My radio show is a success. I was published in the alternative monthly newspaper. An entire half a page. I’ve been asked to write more. I’m doing good things.

I just need something more to hold on to.

They All Know Something I Don’t Know

I’ve come to the conclusion that this campus is a dumping ground for infectious disease. All germs and elements of biochemical warfare gravitate towards some magnetic center on campus. Maybe it’s the library. Only I haven’t been in the library. Suffice to say, I’m sick. Again. With a sinus infection.

I wish I knew how I fell victim to said sinus infection. I wish I was doing something fabulous or fun, like kissing boys or sharing drinks or joints. But no, I have been a good girl, staying in, going to bed early. So apparently, I’m being punished for being a good girl. Is there no justice in the world? Any at all?

As I was saying…

Right, as I was saying. Radio is going really well.

I also joined the alternative monthly newspaper. I wrote an article about fashion in the same fabulously snarky manner that I write this blog. It comes out on Wednesday. If you’d like a copy, you let me know.

Other than that, I’m sorry for not posting, things are chaos around here.

The Obligatory “I’m Back at School and A Horrible Heinous Person for Not Posting” Post

Well, I’ve been back at school for over a month now.

I haven’t posted because, well, things have been busy. Very busy. Much to my chagrin, sophomore year is a lot harder than freshman year. Woo boy, I didn’t see that one coming.

My english class is easy. Easy as brain surgery. I don’t know why every major Early American person of influence felt the need to write autobiographies. Lengthy, overwrought, dense, boring autobiographies. I also don’t see the need for overworked english majors to read every single one of them. Ben Franklin, a word of advice. Shut up. Seriously. I don’t understand you, and you write too much. And I’m not stupid. I’m just fed up with Ben Franklin. Also, I just like saying “I’m fed up with Ben Franklin”.

Anthropology just started getting really awkward. We spent 20 minutes trying to pinpoint the exact reasons why incest is wrong. And “Because it’s gross!” was not an acceptable answer. Then our teacher asked us if we’d marry our parents. Or our siblings. Then we dicussed the article we read about 4 brothers marrying one woman and all having sex with her. Once again, not something you really want to talk about with 35 people around you.

My radio show is back up and running. It’s still called “Rock Snobs” and it broadcasts Mondays 2 – 4 pm. I’m working as a DJ trainer, which means I’m training 2 other people to be as cool as me.

I’ll update more later.