Lament of the Paranoid

I hate being alone.

I don't mean all the time. I love having solitude in nature. And there are times when all I want is to sit by myself away form everyone else's drama, somewhere so I can be away from all thier crap and just.....cleanse myself of their excessive negativity and emotions. Sometimes I just like being alone enough that I can sing along full blast to the Backstreet Boys and not embarass myself.

No, what I mean by neing alone is being completely a l o n e. As in, there isnt' anyone in the house. Well....there's the pets....but otherwsie there's no one. And you sit there in one room.....and just...listen. Because you've run out of things to do. There's nothing you feel like doing.....becuase it's either homework or more reading and you're actually bored with reading. And alll you hear are the little things....

That distinct ringing noise of the house.......the rhythmic clicking of the clock.......the muffled whoosh of a car going by outside........

It's almost worse in a dorm. When you're the last one there after just being let out on break.....it's actually terrifying. There's just silence. And there's never silence on a college campus. It like what you'd imagine a ghost town would sound like. The loud nothingness.

The worst part about being alone at home though......is being alone when the darkness comes. Being alone at night.

I've always hated that. Always was terrified of it. I can't fall asleep.....I can't do much of anything out of my own jack-up paranoia. I listen to music or watch a little something....but the volume is low so I can hear everything around me. Anyone approaching....or the dog gbetting excited or agitated. Just to make sure...you know?

I'm a paranoid person, this I know. And my paranoia increases the longer I'm in solitude.....in the house....at night.

--So where the fuck is that boy who said he was going to see me this morning?--

My Definition: Thoughts on the Future and Issues

The second half of senior readings was tonight. I went, and again found myself pondering the future as I sat there listening to Scott's introductions. He did a personal introduction to each of the Humanities seniors, each with a bit of humor and admiration.

It made me wonder, what will he say next year with my class? What will he say about my own writing? Will I be remembered as the girl who made up telepathic soulmates? Or for freaking out over readings but still getting through them? I don't know. I'm afraid to know.

I think I have all the time in the world to do things....but then I realize that it's already March of my Junior year in college. I'm losing two great friends in May, (probably going to bawl at graduation), I have to find a summer job and get my liscense (both of which I'm terrified of), and in the fall.....I'll be starting my final year here.

Last year before I am catapulted into reality.

School is almost cruel. You spend your years working hard, slacking off, having fun, and challenging yourself, all to get honor and glory for a brief moment...........honor and glory that the real world doesn't give two shits about.

Will the real world care that I was the first (and to my knoweledge, only) 3rd grader ever to get every single analogy correct on a state test? No one here cares; no one cared in high school for that matter. The same goes for any honor I get here.

What does the real world care if I can perform a decent monologue whilst using a Southern accent? Or that I can argue that The Odyssey was also an epic internal journey for Penelope, as much as it was a physical one for her husband and son? Or that I can connect on an emotional level with my own characters?

They just want to make sure I can count well enough to give them the correct change when I ring up their Big Mac and fries. Or that I actually have an American accent and can enunciate when I try to sell them some slop they can get for cheaper at Wal-Mart. That's what it comes down to. What I can do for them......because they sure as hell won't be doing anything for me.

I see such bright people within my class...and with these seniors. And I really, sincerely hope that the world doesn't trash them. Because I've seen what the wrold did to some of my more unfortunate classmates from high school. It shat on thier faces and then ran them over with a John Deere.

I don't want that for them. And I sure as hell don't want that for me.

Please God........cut my generation a little slack.

On another note, tonight's reading made me think some more about another situation, that being my sanity.

Now, I know I'm crazy. I'm not quite sure as to what level of crazy I have reached but it's definitely up there somewhere. According to self-assessment tests I took last night, I have mild depression and moderate anxiety. Which, you know, was rather obvious.

As far as any other type of crazy goes, apparently officials need to do those tests. So, I don't know whether I'm bipolar or not. I looked over the symptoms last night, mildly reminding myself NOT to panic since I've become quite the hypochondriac within the past year. While, I will admit to not being able to concentrate as much.....and thoughts that jump around....and sometimes feeling sad....hopeless....or worthless.....it's not really that onset.

I don't feel like that all the time....and my highs could not be described as manic. I do do things on impulse sometimes but nothing to a dangerous degree. And that impulsiveness is rather rare as it is. And I never think about killing myself. I do think about freak accidents and people dying but that's mainly because A) I'm paranoid, B) I'm a worrywort, and C) I'm a writer. I think up ways in which people could die and/or be maimed. It kinda comes with the territory.

So, I really don't think I'm bipolar...because from the accounts of it...it does not match me at all.

Which leads me back to depression and anxiety. Depression, as mild as mine is, is just a matter of either talking ot people, adjusting sleep and eating patterns, and finding time to do the things that make me happy. I'm normal, pretty much.

Anxiety sometimes includes those feelings I'm also getting. Like, fearing that you're going crazy or about to lose your mind.....and the feeling that you're watching yourself from far away or that everything is either too vivid or not vivid enough.

I know..it's bad. And I know, there are medications that could probably clear everything up for me. But.....I cannot swallow pills. That inability aside, I don't really want to pollute myself with that crap. Which is partly why I sleep off headaches and have not even dared any kind of birth control. I just don't want that crap running through my system. I have enough icky going through me after I partake in a little drinkies. No need to make it a daily and continuous kind of thing.

Also, after tonight's reading, I remembered why again I did not even think again of doing so. Patty read her piece about being on Paxil, which her pediatrician prescribed her for her anxiety problem. She spent 7 years on it......and realized after awhile that she hadn't really been living life. A mind-altering drug had control over her, over her life.

And I don't want to have to deal with the same crap she did. I don't want to lose precious pieces of my life because I was off in la-la land, not really living. I don't want to be disconnected with everyone I care about. I don't want it. Not at all.

So whatever is going on with me......I'll figure out how to deal with it. If I need to talk to somebody about..then I will. But for now, I've got too much to do.

And by God, I will make myself do things. No more hermit girl......no more mime. That's what got me in this trouble to begin with. But that's not who I am.