It's been a rough week (and by rough I mean horrible). And if I wasn't so socially inept I would go out like normal people my age and have a drink because I could certainly use one (and by one I mean about six).
But both of my best friends are unavailable, my mother and I are at odds, and I'm not comfortable venting on anyone else.
Instead I spent some of my tax refund on new clothes because god knows I do need those.
I drove to class the other day, cried for a moment in my truck, cleaned up my face, swallowed the knot in my throat, and walked in and took both my quizzes, none of my classmates the wiser. I don't do that. I've been in this vicious cycle of anger and sometimes things are bigger than paramedic school and work. And I genuinely feel bad because I don't talk about important things and I have this unmatched ability to act like everything is okay and people, the people that love me tend to forget exactly what I'm going through. And then I snap a little and these things bubble up from somewhere deep and even surprise me.
I don't know who I am anymore but I know who I want to be. And it's so incredibly frustrating that I can't be that person until this is over so I'm sitting here while the gears in my head are grinding and the vibrations from heart strings being played like a harp rattles my bones.
I hate that I'm so hard on myself and I hate that I can't just relax.
I can't actually remember a time I ever really just stopped and took a breath; my brain is always feverishly trying to solve problems or creating new ones and in the midst of the chaos I end up missing out on life because I'm so wrapped up in my head all the time.
Basically, my point is I'm a perfectionist at it's worst.