I really hope I can make a new start in college. Today I so thankfully found out from my teacher I should continue with the creative writing/poetry class. I was relieved and I don't know how I really would handle it if I had to withdraw. I do have a paper to rewrite I should have done a week ago and another 5 page literary analysis to do, along with getting my final project poetry portfolio together before next week. But I always look at it like I'm fortunate enough to go to college now so its "good" work.
Now I have to worry about the art appreciation class, since I missed a few days of that class too, due to anxiety, or whatever was going on with me. I hope its over. I hate feeling like something as important to me as college is something threatening all of the sudden. I havn't had a panic attack or really bad anxiety in a long time, at least a year and then it hit me.

 

My birhday passed pleasant and quiet. It will take me a while to get used to being 27 since I put regrets and other things on myself attached to what age I am.
College will hopefully get better. My psychiatrist precribed regular ritalin for evening classes only along with an increased dose of the time release variety. She lowered my antipsychotic also to a dose so low I'm hardly taking it. She also, most importantly, wrote a letter for my teacher/s telling them to please excuse me for my mental illness and that I'm on a lot of medication now. Hopefully the letter will make part of a difference in keeping me from having to withdraw from both classes. I shouldn't get my hope up with the being able to continue with the classes because I did miss a lot of classes.
I have the idea to continue or start writing/outling a short story about an incident in the life of a self-destructive girl I started to write about a year and half ago. The only thing concrete and well done so far about the story outline is that I have a picutre of her in my mind and wrote a detailed character sketch. As far as plot goes I'm undecided which means I have a lot of work to do if I want to finally write a short story.
 

It's my birthday. Well, technically I was born at later in the day, it is only midnight. I can't believe I'm 27. It just sounds older than I am, in some ways. I don't know how old I feel. I geuss maybe sometimes people just stop aging at a certain point, good or bad. I don't have a job, a college degree, a car, or even any children to show for the past years. I blame it on the mental illness. Besides that I didn't go through with the weird resolutions and regrets I usually go through before my birthday approaches.
I'm doing not-so-good in college attendance wise and even though I'm caught up on work as far I can be, it's still bad because they count them. I just been getting almost panic attacks when I get there or about to leave to go there. I can't stand the thought of sitting there in the classroom, it feels clausterphobic. And its midterm season so I guess I'll find out or have to decide what to do soon.
I haven't been writing much, I keep having fear over getting started and then continuing. It's terrible. I did submit a 25 page manuscript to publisher today. I took my time and think I presented it well. I already have an e-chapbook on another site but I want a published book or something I can hold. Oh, well.
 

I decided to try to meet others on writing.com so I looked up what groups they have and found some interesting groups I'd like to be part of. I've been accepted by some already. Writing.com has so much to offer. I just wish I could write more. I've been sleeping for the past day and a half. I missed/canceled an appointment with a college guidance counselor/advisor to discuss my future plans for transfering and what to do since I'm not doing so good attendence-wise this semester. I can already feel the season changing, I'm getting tired so easily.
 

Last night I fell asleep in my art class. It was terrible. My thoughts were like sludge. I ended up leaving early, which I think offended the teacher. I felt guilty, anyway. I really hope I can make up everything for this class. Besides needing it for my major, I love art and it is an interesting class. So now I'm swamped with art homework, which could probly even be fun.
I haven't had time to write since I've been doing homework for my other class (art) and caught up on desperately needed sleep. I don't even work and there's never enough time.
 

Right now I don't think I have writer's block, exactly. I'm working through fear, self-doubt, self and outer criticism. But writing is what I think about half the time, or more. It's probley not supposed to be easy so I can just take it as it comes. I have been writing terribly lately, it's sad. I borrowed three writing guides from the college library today. One of them was an Eric Maisel book, which should help. I just waste too much time worrying, getting ready, and then I get so tired very easily, pathetic. If this is what i'm going to do it shouldn't be this hard. It wasn't always. Maybe the meds. are dulling me, especially the antipsychotic that I don't understand why it was prescribed for. I know what it does and all but I don't need it. I'll still be on too many meds. after they take that one away. I might be getting my own computer and internet access and a printer soon so I can use the computer at my house,
not just my dad's. I am grateful just for their offer, actually. It's just school work is hard these days without a computer. Right now I feel really weird and irritable because they prescribed prednisone, a steroid, for the asthma. I can't sleep.
 

While my life seems like its just a still, standing point I am beginning to wander when my life will start. I'm too old for this. I'm too old to feel like I'm floating like a dried leaf. I should be done college by now, maybe, but I havn't even transfered to a university yet. My boyfriend, Louis, is the only thing that holds me here securely, having him as my love and support. He was so bad, wrong to me, when I first met him and I just loved him and he's grown so much, into someone I don't feel I'm worthy of. We can't get by with government help forever, even if we are disabled by our mental illnesses. I just wish something would change for the better. My gray hairs are bothering me today.
 

People in general are strange and cruel and I keep forgetting that. Sometimes the most obvious reason, motive, idea is just blind-sided by cyncism or is it just laziness? Sometimes we are what we are, do what we do and mean exactly what we say, but that is too innocent for most to appreciate and accept without twisting everything out of proportion. Sorry to be hazy here. I just had a difficult day dealing with difficult people and I'm too sensitive.
 

It's 7:00 am and I haven't gotten any sleep. I have a paper due tomorrow, or actually a poem/s to hand in for my workshop class and I'm so picky and weird about which ones to use, its taking me forever. I'm only taking two classes now, I used to be a full-time student and worked some of the time. The only things that help that I can even do that is my boyfriend's and family support and the ritalin/other medication. Last week was bizarre for me. My boyfriend and I almost broke up and as I suddenly, mistakenly turned to suicide over what turned out to be nothing, the only thing I wanted to live for was my writing, if not the knowing that writing has the power to save. Everything can change so drastically in a week.