neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it

Officially, I have only been diagnosed with clinical depression and anorexia nervosa. I'm on and off medication for anxiety and am "slightly" obsessive compulsive.

None of this is new. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm pretty fucked up in the head years ago.

But that has yet to keep me from pursuing causation and further biological explanations.

Incredibly recently, I found myself curled up in a chair with some article on some psychological disorders -- while having a panic attack. It dawned on me then how utterly ridiculous it was to be so tied up in finding out why this was happening to me that I neglected to pull myself out of the hole.

And I do this all the time. I have a suspicion that is one of the core reasons I decided to major in biology. Just yesterday I listened to someone who has done a lot of research on Filipino American psychology. Instantly it became necessary for me to learn more about my heritage.

I read once that in order for anything to actually get done you must focus on the solution, not the problem. It's completely opposite of my instinct, but has almost always proven to be much more beneficial.

Hm.

improvement

Two more months. Back in school, taking a much lighter load of 16 credits and no labs. Looking into changing major. Another year after this one to graduate.

Things are fine, somewhat steady I suppose. Can't complain.

More another time, maybe.

" i'm here without you, baby, but you're still on my lonely mind; i think about you, baby, and i dream about you all the time... "

A summation

of the months it has been

since I have last posted:

slow,

steady erosion.

There are many words that have come to my sad mind, but such little motivation to do anything that noting them down feels frivolous. It is a shame. I have forgotten many of them, and cannot say whether that is for better or for worse.

I currently lie in bed alone, having seen to sleep the love of my life, who begins his first day of class for this term tomorrow. I should also be in dreamland, but instead I find myself crying like a pathetic little nag. Unable to cope with change, yet unable to bear with the present. My parents are in Australia for my uncle's funeral. I have let myself run out of medication and desperately need more. I can feel it, and I only have myself to blame. No one knows, and I only have myself to blame. I feel as though I am killing myself and no one knows. And I only have myself to blame.

what the fuck is wrong with me? what the fuck is wrong with me

falling apart

so even if i could muster up some sort of self-esteem to lift my head up, i'd find myself weighed down by guilt and shame and fear of the unknown.

why bother?