pajama professor.

I definitely should either be using this time to be 1) sleeping or 2) reading Shakespeare, but I kind of want to blog instead. Sleep is something I really should do, you know, log some hours. Between loads and loads of homework, projects, and tests, having little to no self control to talk or hang out with friends for hours on end, and all of the little other things that fill up my days, I have a very strained relationship with sleep. Sometimes I can go to bed at 9pm and sleep until 6am and it's wonderful, glorious, and awesome. But other times, I'm up until 11 0r 12 working on physics lab reports or like, doing whatever it was that I was doing on Sunday night until 1:30am.


Which brings me to this: thank you guys for all of your comments on my post from Sunday night. And thanks for the hugs, cyber hugs make me feel all warm inside, much like a real hug. Reading them throughout the week has helped, because this week has been a combination of busy/glowy/nice/stressful/anxious/tiring/warm and reading those helped the bad parts. I do hope you know that I don't feel like that all the time, just certain parts of the day and some days for long periods of time. I have bad days and such, but I'm not usually in a perpetual state of panic and anxiety. Which is good, and is precisely the reason that I haven't seen a doctor about it.


I'm sitting on my bed at my mom's house, with my back against the pillows, and I can look across my room and out the window and see a white world. A white world with a couple bushes and some tree branches and this house that has lights in their yard and lining their roof and it's really pretty. I like winter, or at least December. Once it gets to be maybe February or so, that depressing, lonely rut where I don't want to do anything at all sets in, but December is just so magical. The cold and snow are so new that I can't even mind them. I kind of keep looking out of the window at the snow and the lights and feeling that Christmas-y feeling wash over me. It's nice.


I look like a pajama professor. I'm wearing a combination of a t-shirt, really high (penguin) socks, wiener dog boxers, and this really weird sweater that my mom gave me. It has a collar and when I was brushing my teeth earlier, I realized that the collar made me look like a professor, for some reason. It might be my deteriorating brain playing tricks on me, but I totally looked like I was going to grade some super intense dreams later, or something. Nope, no, I can't anymore. My eyelids are drooping and I'm way too excited to sleep. Before 11pm for the first time in 2 days. Goodnight. :)

the things I don't tell.

There is a lot that I don't tell people. Even the people that I'm closest to. I guess it's because I know that honestly, they don't want to hear it. If they really care about me, it will make them sad and a little, screaming part of me will always believe that telling too much about the side of me that is very, very dark will push them away. Because, who really wants an unstable friend? Someone you can't depend on to just be… normal? And if they don't care, it will just make them feel awkward. I can always tell.

But the people who care… they may tell me that they want me to tell them when something is going very, very wrong, but I don't tell them. How do you explain to someone that you spend an evening shaking, with your heart beating rapidly, and your brain feeling like it's ripping apart at the seams from a mixture of dull pain and haunting images, when you can't even explain why?

I spend so many of my moments worrying about other people, so how can anyone blame me when I don't want to inflict that brain-crippling worry on anyone else? I'd be lying, though, if I said that the reasons for me keeping in my unexplainable moments of panic is purely selfless. It's not, really. I'm terrified of letting people know that I have these moments, where my heart won't stop beating and I feel my chest constrict and everything feels empty and numb and painful all at the same time. I know that weakness is a part of being human, and that isn't the point. My worry is that someday, people will start to realize that I'm more trouble than I'm worth, and leave. I'm afraid that someday, everyone will realize that they're better off without me and just… leave. And I won't have these amazing people in my life anymore. They'll just be gone, and I'll be alone.

A logical part of me knows that I'll wake up tomorrow and have very little memory of this empty and yet aching feeling in my chest. I'll wake up to my alarm at 5:45, groan, kiss my dog, and get into the shower. I'll put in my hair mousse and the whole bathroom will smell good and I'll adjust my sweater and make funny faces in the mirror. I'll eat some incredibly non-breakfast-food breakfast and watch whatever episode of South Park I'm on on Netflix Instant Play. I'll go to school and see my friends and play Angry Birds in math and listen to music that makes me smile and I'll probably have a good day. But right now, even though I know that nothing is wrong and that tomorrow holds unknown promise, I can't stop my body from twitching and shaking and sinking.

I guess the point of this wasn't to try to open up to more people about my heart-stuttering anxiety or to try and get my feelings off of my chest. I guess, to be honest, the real reason for this was because twenty minutes ago, I was laying in bed, trying so many different things to ease my mind, and none of them were working. I tried to play Fastball 2, but it got me feeling even more panic-y , and then I started to read, but the content of the book I was reading completely collided with some of the things my brain was (unnecessarily) freaking out about, and so I wrote this. As a cure for my unrelenting mind.

I think it helped. And I'm really sorry if this post made anyone feel uncomfortable, it's just that Nora has been begging me to blog for the longest time, and I decided to try and kill two birds with one stone. And I really do think it helped.