When You're Lucid, You're the Sweetest Thing

If wanting something is scary, getting what you want is terrifying. This week, I've been accepted to the Sage Hill Summer Writing Experience, found a job, and been officially transferred to the Writing Department at school. That's three things I really wanted falling in to place all at once. Not only that, but certain sectors of my personal/social life have been pretty good, albeit I could still use more friends within the city.
I guess it's not all perfect. I think I failed a midterm for the summer class I'm doing right now. It's an art history class, and apparently I'm not very good at that. Technically, the subject matter interests me, but the prof likes to ramble on about random things, and I don't learn much in the lectures. Then on the midterm, there were three slide IDs, eight multiple choice questions, thirteen definitions, seven short answer questions, and two essays. And we had under two hours to do it. Provided everything I managed to write down was generally correct, I think I got about 25%. I'm hoping maybe everyone else did terribly and we'll get a second chance to bring our marks up, but most of the other students are actually Art History majors, which means they know how to do this stuff. I can't make myself care too much about it, though I don't want my GPA to drop. I guess I should pull my socks up, but my training for the new job starts Wednesday, so I won't have a heck of a lot of time to prepare for the class's final, which is on Friday (oh, how I hate the compressed schedule of summer classes!).
I am so excited for this summer, especially for July. I had been really, really hoping to get in to Sage Hill, but I'd almost convinced myself it wasn't going to happen because I was hoping so much. It's very rare that I get what I really want, no compromise involved. I have this amazing feeling of excitement and happiness and gratitude, but there's fear in there, too. Knowing the nature of life and especially of my illness, I'm constantly aware that the highs will eventually fall away and the lows will return. So I almost want to throw the highs away before I get too attached to them. I feel like something has to go wrong, because getting what I want is not my life, and I don't want to break my heart with self-delusion another time. But what then is the point of wanting anything if then I just refuse it? I begged the Universe for this with everything inside me, and I got it. How do I show my gratitude? And how do I hold it without it crumbling?
I'm trying to keep myself grounded by thinking ahead to all the work that will be involved. I'm skating along as a writer, and I know it. I hardly write a poem a month. In workshops next year, I will be expected to produce a poem a week. And since I'm planning on doubling up with the drama workshop as well, there will be even more writing to do. So I will have to really push myself to focus and work hard. So in a way, the Universe is not offering me something without a catch. I need to prove every single day that I deserve this. But I am so ready. I've been waiting for years for a door to open for me, and it just has. My hands are bruised and bleeding from pounding on the doors and my bones are breaking from slamming into walls. But I can't let 21 years of injury stop me from moving on.
So, Universe, I accept your gift with gratitude and I accept your challenge with tenacity.

Did You See the Jealousy in the Eyes of The Ones Who Had to Stay Behind?

I learned something today. That is, it doesn't matter how long you've been out of a relationship with a person and how little you feel about them anymore, it still stings to see pictures of them having a good time with a new girl who is prettier than you, and probably better than you in most other ways, too. I don't know her, and everyone seems to love her, so she must be pretty great, but it's impossible not to look at her with envy. Why does she get to have what I couldn't?

But no, it's not her I'm jealous of. I don't want him back. I've moved on. It's HIM I'm really jealous of. I always was, even when I was with him. His perfect family still in tact, the way everyone loved him, and how everything seemed to fall in place for him. Now he's graduated, has a job, has a group of friends that do fun things with him, and a pretty girl going everywhere with him. And where am I? I'm barely getting out of bed in the morning, unemployed, years behind in my classes, can count the number of friends I have in this city on one hand with room to spare.

So many people seem to be moving on to new, exciting lives that I'm not part of. Everyone's at a wine and cheese party comparing engagement rings and diplomas, and I'm still at the birthday party waiting for my goody bag. Everybody got an invitation but me.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not in any particular rush to grow up and move on with my life. I know I'm not ready to be a grown up and have grown up relationships and a grown up job. I think some of this has to do with my unconventional adolescence. I didn't have many friends and I certainly didn't have any boyfriends. I didn't have a summer job in high school either. So everybody else got these practice runs, where they could do things and feel things in the turbulence of teenagedom and then learn how to deal with the emotional consequences of things not going right. So I'm trying to deal with that now, which is goddamn lonely.

I'm sure that the lives of the people I envy are not as great as I think them to be, but it doesn't take away the isolation I feel. I don't fit in anywhere. I was for the most part a loner in high school, and I thought University would bring me into contact with a group of people who would accept me and I'd excel. But it didn't happen. The problem was never other people. The problem was always me. I don't know how to fit in. When I'm in a room full of strangers, I have no clue how I'm supposed to talk to them. I don't know how to make friends, I don't know how to get a job, I don't know how to take care of myself in the most basic ways, and I don't know how to make good things stay in my life.

This is reality. This is what it's like to be mentally ill and know that it's not ever going to be cured. I will always struggle to do things other people take for granted, there will always be days when I hurt so bad that I can barely breath, and I will always stay at a distance from the world. I'm never going to be normal, which is neither good nor bad in itself. But I will never fit in and will never know who I am without the sickness.

There's Such a Lot of World to See

Unemployment is getting me down. Okay, I suppose it's normal not to get called about most jobs you apply for, especially if you're not really qualified, but I haven't got a single interview yet. I dropped off a resume at one store last Friday, and was told they would call me this week. As I should have known, it never happened. I'm starting to think maybe there's some mistake on my resume. Maybe somebody hacked my computer and changed the auto-correct settings on Word. Now every time I type customer service, it comes out cock-sucking? I don't know. It's more than just being broke that's bothering me. I know my family will help me out if I can't afford to eat, and I guess I can take fewer courses if I can't afford tuition next year. It's the rejection. Like I don't already have enough reasons to feel unwanted.
I'm becoming paranoid and agoraphobic. I'm out of milk, eggs, juice, cereal, and essentially all the basics that I rely on, but I keep avoiding going to the grocery store. I don't want anyone to see me. I don't want to deal with people. I'm spending all my time alone in my apartment watching TV. I'm being inflated. Every day, my limbs get more like dough and my torso is more bloated. I can hardly fit into any of my clothes. I'm growing gigantic and nauseated and little scabs are appearing all over my face like freckles. I'm very sick, I know.
I think I'm the only person whose Facebook friends list shrinks over time. Several people have deleted me, and I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm melodramatic and I post too much about myself. I really hate myself for what I do, believe me, but if I can't complain about my struggles online, all that hatred and disappointment is turned inward. If I can't write "I'm a failure" on the internet, I write it on my thighs with broken glass. But telling people how bad it gets makes them hate me, which only makes me hate myself more. I've been told that I shouldn't care what other people think of me, but I have to. In the absence of objective moral truths, the only way I can be sure I'm not evil is by looking at what people think of me. And people think terrible things about me, so there must be something very wrong inside of me.
I don't know how to make friends. I don't know how to be a better person. I hardly know how to get out of bed some days, but the world wants me to know how to find a job when nobody wants to hire me, how to keep writing when no one wants to read it, how to speak to others when my throat is dry and my mind is blank and all I can thing is how ugly and pathetic I am. I shouldn't have to know that I am sick, that the sickness will never go away, and that when people learn I am sick, it will make them judge me.
I don't want to be alive. I'm not suicidal, I just don't want to deal with anything. The next few months are going to be hard, and I just don't want to do it. I need a reason to believe things will be okay again.

Girl Afraid

I keep having the same dream every night. I have to pack for some kind of trip, but my stuff is everywhere, and I don't have enough time to get it all in the suitcase. I know that I'll leave something behind. I get angry and shout at whoever is telling me to pack. Sometimes I think I might even be shouting aloud.
I used to interpret dreams for some of my friends, so I suppose I should be able to interpret them for myself. The truth about my interpretations was that it was less about what was actually in the dream than it was about the things the dreamers emphasized. Of all the millions of things swirling around in a dreamer's brain, why did a few strike her in particular? Unfortunately, trying to read your own desires and fears objectively is particularly difficult.

School is finished for the semester. I'm not really sure how well I did in some of my classes. I don't even know if the last two assignments I handed in even got to the profs at all, let alone on time. I can't really care anymore. Sometimes I question why I'm still trying to make it through school. Sure, I love learning, and some of my classes are inspiring, but 80% of the experience seems to be total bullshit. I had maybe two or three assignments the whole year that will actually contribute to my future. The rest were artificial. Nobody outside of academia cares about fricking research papers. So why do I have to keep writing them? Grumble grumble.

I also submitted my application to Sage Hill Summer Writing Experience. I'm so nervous now. I think it'll be about three weeks, maybe a month until I hear back. I really want to get in, but if I do it will also be terrifying. I'm worried my social awkwardness will once again thwart me.

Speaking of which, I was a little sad this evening to notice that a Facebook group has been made for former members of my first year residence building. A private group, which I have not been invited to. The girl who is the admin was originally on my friends list, but deleted me, as did a couple other girls. Sometimes I think back to first year and wonder if things could have been different. Could I have been accepted into the acting program and be graduating now? Could I have felt confident enough to eat dinner with my building mates instead of eating ramen alone in my room? And there was that time the cutest boy in the building was knocking either on my door or my neighbour's and I was too damn scared to open the door in case it wasn't my door and I looked like an idiot. He never smiled at me again after that. Could I have formed better friendships in the theatre department? Sure, there are a few people I'm still close to, but for the most part, I always felt like an outsider looking in. It's how I always feel. I'm sick of not belonging and knowing its my own fault.

I'm worried about wanting anything too much, because I feel like the second I really want something, it becomes impossible.

If the Clouds are Gathering, It's Just to Point the Way...

I have a sudden urge to update this blog, possibly encouraged by the two rum and cokes I had earlier in the evening, or possibly just because I'm lonely. Yeah, I said it. I'm lonely. Everyone point at me and laugh. I'm alone, and I don't like it. I don't talk to people at school, and I don't like that either. But do I ever change? No.

I've been fascinated with Absurdism for a little while now, and for a good reason. Absurdist work is all about people searching for meaning in a universe that is not prepared to give it to them. I feel like I am one of those Absurdist heroes. I`m looking for some kind of meaning in my own life, and I'm not finding it. I keep trying to ask myself exactly what is wrong with me that has left me so alone, but there is no answer. I ask why my former lovers left me, and there is no answer. I ask why I don't have more friends, and there is no answer. I ask why I could have a perfectly good date with a man a month ago and he could continue to pretend as though it never happened. Also no answer.

I've spent so many years wondering why and why not, and I haven't found any of the reasons yet. It's like trying to put a puzzle together but with all the wrong pieces. And I've know for a long time how wrong they are. So why am I still at the table, trying to force them to fit?

Because I am an artist. Because I am a human. Because I am a thinking thing, and thinking things are always looking for answers, even to questions in languages we can't and won't understand.

I Want to Start Over

I think I need to take a class on basic human social interaction. Sure, I have a few awesome friends, and I love them dearly, but for the most part, I am a bit of an outcast.I always sit alone in classes, and I only talk to people if they talk to me first, and even then, I often drive the conversation into the ground. There must be some way of becoming less of a societal reject, but I don't know what it is.

My poetry class has officially finished, and next week we will be moving on to Creative Non-Fiction. I'm nervous, because I've never tried that genre before, but at least this way I'll have a sort of excuse if I fail. I was feeling quite a bit more confident about my poetry until the test we had today. I got a much better working grade on my lyric poem, and I went in to meet with my instructor for revision tips, so I was feeling pretty good. And then today, I had to write the most ridiculous exam I've ever failed before. Part of it involved reading a really bad poem, finding five specific areas of weakness, explaining why they were weak, and writing whole new lines of poetry that kept the same idea, but were better. I couldn't do it. When the instructor told us we had ten minutes left, I actually tried to hit my head against the desk and cause a concussion. Maybe if I was rushed to the hospital, she would be merciful in her grading. The only hope I can hold on to is that I'm pretty sure the majority of the class also failed.

I'll be heading off to my mum's for the weekend to see a few friends and relax. Last Saturday was my last day at my job, and I feel relatively free, except for the fact I have months worth of homework to do in weeks. Maybe I should drop out. Galileo didn't graduate with a degree, and look what he did!

Is All The Weakness in Me?

I just had a rough week as a writer. We got our narrative poems back on Thursday, with comments and a letter grade. The grade doesn't actually count for anything yet (we will submit the original AND the revised version in a few weeks for our actual grade), but it was still harsh to see I had a B-, which you could tell had originally been a C+. It's not a fail, but looking at the grading criteria, a B-/C+ poem is considered to be minimally challenging, barely acceptable, and filled with grammatical errors. I really didn't think it was that bad. Compared to the writing done by some of my classmates that I had to workshop, I thought it was rather good. But apparently my TA didn't. Later that night, we had to post our lyric poems online to be workshopped by peers, and that was also difficult. The new workshop group I was placed in was much more talented than the last one, and the first comment I recieved felt very harsh. Not that she said it was terrible or anything, but more that she didn't understand who the speaker was and couldn't connect to the emotions of the piece. That seems to be the general theme of the comments I get about my writing. Nobody can connect with me. I guess I just am not human or something. I didn't think my emotional experiences were that alien to people, but I guess they are.
I really considered giving up in that moment. I even thought about dropping out of the class, because I don't always know if I can take a whole year of having my work so closely critiqued, especially as we move on to genres I am less comfortable working in. But I didn't do anything rash, and I'm still in the class. I keep waffling over whether or not I want to persue this for the entire four years it will take to get a degree in it. Can I really take the pressure? If I'm a month in and already panicking, how much worse might it get? I just don't know. I want to believe that I have talent and potential, but some days the depression just supresses my confidence too much.

Just a week left of work before I'm free. I'm not particularly looking forward to Thanksgiving this coming weekned, as I have a feeling I'll be all alone. My mother is in Italy, and my Father is going to visit his sister. If I have a few days off, I can go see my sister on the Sunshine Coast, but I won't find out my schedule until tomorrow, when I go into work. I'm pretty sure I work Saturday, though. I've had pangs of sadness over quitting, but no major regrets so far, which is a good thing. But when I was feeling depressed over my writing, I bought myself new clothes online, which I have to learn not to do if I haven't got a fixed income.

I've been missing my ex a bit lately, the good one, not the more recent idiot. Mostly because I've been seeing him about weekly in a platonic fashion, and it's hard not to remember all the good things about the relationship. I felt loved and respected with him, and I really am quite lonely and depressed right now. But I consider it may be possible that this is just nostalgia and nothing more, and I don't have any evidence he would want to be with me again, so I have to keep it inside, for the time being. One day things will be good again for me? Maybe.