Fuck.

It's the second day of classes and I'm already overwhelmed. Should I read for my 0-level biology course? No...I should probably curl on the couch and be sad. What's worse? I can't even bring myself to tell my professors what is going on. It's not that I don't trust them, I'm just terrified of three specific and very rational scenarios:

1. They will judge me. After I confess that I am superfuckedup, Professor A,B, C, and D will give me the worried, folded-hand look. S/he will say, "I'm sorry to hear that." In reality, Professor will talk about me behind my back and tell every one that they know a crazy person and it is just so hilarious. Rational thinking.

2. They will tell me to "keep my chin up" or to "persevere" and I will still be held to the same standard as every one else. Ok, I don't want or expect special treatment, but it would be nice to consider that maybe I am having a little more difficulty completing small tasks. Oh god, and I'll be told to fucking stick it out. Mental illness cannot be "stuck out". Christchurch.

3. They will ask, "What's wrong?" To which I will reply, "I'd love to tell you. Do you have about seven hours and a healthy amount of sanity?"


Truth is, it doesn't matter if I tell them or not. I'm still fucked. Totally and completely fucked. Therapy twice a week. School five times a week. Work two-three times a week. Plus comping. I am trying to see how this is conducive to getting well. But neither is taking off school. Or quitting my job.

Fuck.

I'll try harder this time.

I checked myself into therapy a little over a week ago. It would be heroic if it wasn't so damn overdue. I don't know exactly when I snapped, or even if I snapped. Maybe mental illness isn't a sudden spark of insanity, and that's the most frustrating part. It surfaces slowly. It lies just under the surface of your skin and begs for you to itch it until, finally, you give in and scratch. You expect relief but relief never comes.

The thing about mental illness is that it never leaves me the fuck alone. It has shown it's ugly face many times. It entered every aspect of my life and I didn't even see it come in. I can't pinpoint it. I don't know why I can't handle being alone, but still feel tense around people. I don't know why getting out of bed is a battle, but sleeping is a struggle too. I don't know when I stopped caring who I am, who I was, who I could be. I don't know when I stopped being normal or if I ever was. Hell, I don't know when I chose the worst coping methods on the face of the fucking planet.

I want to get better. I want it now. I crave normalcy. I need help, I need help, I need help.