Next month, it'll be a year since I named that tightness in my chest as 'depression'. I'm still uncomfortable with the label. So, I call it this Thing.

At the time, I hoped it would just go away. That because there was nothing for me to be anxious or depressed about that it would just dissipate itself. I thought that because I was making movements towards things that meant a lot to me, it would ease itself. But the pressure of school and the reality that someday I would have to grow up and take care of myself kept that bind around my heart.

I don't have any excuses now. I'm living in the most beautiful place, studying what I want to study. And it still won't go away. Today, I boxed myself into the corner of the couch with the pillows. For some reason, I thought that maybe if I could match the physical pressure I feel inside on the outside, it might equalize itself.

I've never needed that before. I can't communicate any of it. Thankfully, this is a step above "There's something inherently wrong with me", which was the only thing I could think when this happened before.

I know that there's no way to quantify emotion health, and no easy way of fixing this sort of thing. And I know there's no way of rationalizing myself out of it. It's just-it's been a year.

I just thought I'd be different by now.

The Last Week

T-Minus 4 days left in Vientiane.

I keep writing and re-writing this post and it won't write. So, instead, I made a list.

1. I value sacrifice as the ultimate act of Love towards God and Her people.
2. I value consistency of action and value.
3. I believe(d?) God respects willingness.
4. I have not been a sacrificial person, making me inconsistent.
5. My willingness has been replaced with fear.
6. I feel guilt and shame over my fear.
7. I don’t know how to get back to just being willing.

blech.

Today, I hate having boobs. And Janeane Garofalo.

Sure, not being able to wear a even semi low cut shirt without glances is a pain, but more frustratingly, girls with bodies like mine perpetually look frumpy if we aren't careful. Most days, no matter what I put on, it hangs, baggy, shapeless--- my t-shirts are tented, top heavy, then hang lifeless. When I try to fix this by accentuating my waist, everything seems to balloon out, but most especially my breasts. They suddenly become the center of everything... and I can't stand that. I've always hated my breasts.

The reason I'm currently hating on Janeane is because she may have been a girl with a body like mine- except she had a cosmetic breast reduction before she started getting serious about her acting/comedy etc. She said she felt that if she went on stage herself, all 5'1" and C-D breasts, she just wouldn't get respected. I'm irritated because I respect her. And suddenly, a cosmetic reduction is starting to look like a good idea.

I'll shake it off and tomorrow it won't matter.

-5:31pm-

I feel shitty. I feel torn between this person that I 'am', and the person I feel I should be. I should spend my free day exploring this new city, no matter how little I know about it, or how dark it is outside. Instead, I just want to lie in bed and read my book. Why can't I just be comfortable with what I actually want? Why do I always feel like I need to compare to this -person- I feel I should be, and then justify my actual actions? Who is judging me? And why do I think it matters so much?

i kinda wish I was the happier type.

and less afraid.

--

I also wish I didn't have to speak everything I felt. It doesn't relieve the tension in my ribcage.

I try not to regret many things-

but I really really wish I hadn't dropped out of Intro to Journalism.

At the time, I dropped because I knew I had to commit myself to other things. My other classes, to being an RA, to my emotional state. It's true that it was hard for me to do, for me to demand another persons time, for me to assert myself that way, and that fear was a larger factor than I was willing to admit.

I don't know if I'd make a good journalist. Part of me likes to think so.

Must be all this This American Life and that Current Tv.

I met Mike Phillips on the TV version of This American Life. He’s in his upper 20’s, and has been living with a spinal disease that has degenerated his motor skills. This episode of TAL has stuck with me so strongly, that it’s sent me into one of my Input strength binges. After downloading a year’s worth of TAL, I scoured their website. It was on their blog feed that I stumbled upon the link to Mike Phillips blog. The first post I saw was entitled Trache Day: Thinking about Tender Branson- , in which he writes about one of my favorite books Survivor, by Chuck Palhanuik. Automatically drawn to him, I aggregated his feed as well. While I haven’t read most of his writing, really only picking and reading the one’s about his tattoos or the TAL episode, I was surprised to see a 2-line post about taking a hiatus from blogging.

Another post followed the next day saying-

I might be a lot of really awful things, but I’m not stupid. I realized that I’d rather write until all four engines flame out than not. Even if everything I have to write is bad, that’s better than absolutely nothing.- Mike Philips

I feel that too. I keep quitting and starting again- hoping to be better this time around.

So here I am, starting again.

---

I couldn't sleep last night, and I'm having a hard time concentrating today.

But I did a few productivity things, like organizing my Google Reader, and finding that one shortcut. Yes- I know I'm that geeky.

Feeling lonely today, and down about my work. Trying not to let that stop me.