Slipping...

I'm starting to slip again.

2007 was a hard year. I had to overcome my self-doubts, figure out what I wanted in life, pick myself back up and push forward. And I did well. I came out of the year with a loving, supportive mate, a mess of friends, and the lowest grade I had was a C, from the class I had never wanted to be in in the first place.

And now...it's starting to feel like this time again last year.

I don't know if it's the Zoloft, the Concerta, a combination of the two, or just myself. I'm starting to go back to that self-doubt and resentment of the chemical leash that keeps me stable, or attempts to, anyway.

I'm resentful that because of all the damned restrictions, if I want to go overseas, the absolute longest I can be gone is 3 months because that's the biggest amount of Concerta I can have at one time.

I'm resentful that it seems like my brain can't understanding coding without my mate around to hold my hand. Not resentful of him at all, just...wish I could figure it out on my own without having to bother him.

I'm resentful that my community college doesn't have the classes I need at the times I need them to get in, get out, and on with my life.

I'm resentful that my Texas Tomorrow fund will be running out in 2 years, leaving my parents to scramble for funds for college, and that my chances of netting a scholarship have been reduced to almost nil because of the bad year at Arizona.

I'm starting to wonder if my mate loves me because I'm just that awesome, or because I'm that much better than his previous choices (s'not hard to look amazing against people who constantly take advantage of your kindness). I know what he'd say if I told him this, but it wouldn't stop the doubting.

I...I'm starting to lose track of my path. The fog is beginning to set in, and I'm beginning to stumble. Last time I fell off a cliff, I floundered around at the mud in the bottom for a bit, and discovered a coyote who was also floundering. We helped each other up, helped each other out, and now we're mates.

...I don't know what will happen if I fall again. I don't know that there's mud to soften the blow. I don't know that I won't just crumple and not get up again.

I'm scared. Scared for what will happen in two years. Scared that I may be picking a path that's too difficult for me. Scared that I may be getting in over my head. Scared of what lies in wait out there the minute I manage to get my diploma.

I've always liked being independent. Never needing other people, never having to validate myself.


...I don't know what happened to that me. I don't know where she went. I don't know if I can ever get her back. Maybe she was just around while I was a naive little girl, and didn't know enough to be scared of the world.

The pain that I thought I'd left in Tucson is starting to come back. I'm not going to do something stupid, that much I can assure you of.

I...don't want more drugs. I don't know that a psychologist can help me through this. And I would feel horrible telling my mate about this because he has enough on his plate to worry about without me dumping my own problems on him.



I'm tired of this chemical leash, but is it the only thing holding me up from walking off the cliff?