Blog Every Day August: 8/10

I am in a funk right now. As you may be able to discern, I do go up and down quite a lot. Like a buoy, maybe, not quite sinking but kept in a terrifying repetition. I mean, it's preferable to being depressed. However, by the same token, it keeps me paralyzed for fear I'll again be pushed into a pit of depression. I'm so much better off than I was last year at this time. I am. But as with anything, this is a process. The fact that my home life growing up unknowingly screwed with the way I think and rationalize my actions in life isn't just going to go away. I'm dealing with it, I'm making progress, and I will be alright.

But here I reach the point that I feel bad about taking up your time with it. I feel that I shouldn't be complaining or running over the same things, that I should be above or beyond it all. But I'm not. I am not yet beyond the fact that I have been screwed with, and in my writing this is what comes up. This is my space. This is how I process things. Maybe I am too transparent, by some standards, but I cannot imagine enjoying this month of blogging without doing it for myself and in this fashion. So there's that.

Today I finished my journal. That is, all the pages are filled, and it makes me feel a bit poignant and weepy. The first dated entry was 3/27 of this year, and to see all of these pages filled with thought and confusion and my life... it's a powerful thing. I have a thing for journals, and I've kept quite a few scattered throughout the years, but I've never actually filled all of the pages of any book. I will find myself distracted or lured away by a shinier, more hopeful journal. I'll stop. But this journal, I kept it to the end. I placed my thoughts in it even when they made no sense, or especially when they made no sense, and this gives me hope for myself. In writing I can begin to make sense of things. I can tie down thought and know it won't float away, know that I can go back and piece it together again. My memory will grow fuzzy, yet I will still have a record. I am so attached to this journal now that I'm rather sad for it to be "finished." It holds so much. But... new beginnings, and so forth. Another journal awaits me, pages blank and waiting.

Senior orientation is on Friday. School ID, schedule, school pictures, textbooks. I'm really hoping to have the same math and English teachers I had last year. I still don't know whether I'm taking the AP version of Government/Economics (my credits have been so weird that I honestly don't know what they have me down for). They may have my classes transcribed wrong for all I know. Furthermore, I'm still not officially hired to work in the library. The woman who runs the Co-Op is still on vacation, and while I've been assured by two other parties that it will be worked out, I will inevitably still worry myself to death over it. Today's panic has been "zomg I will look so frumpy and everyone will hate me." It changes daily. There are a lot of unknowns, questions I cannot answer, and that is something that drives me up the wall. If I cannot control or pick things apart myself to answer them... I panic and stress and attempt to do it anyway. But the grand majority of things in my life are not in my control! This is life. By trying to control everything I am pushing myself into misery. I can't help but make the excuse that it's my nature, but as I say: I'm still a work in progress. And, while I am vastly unable to convince myself of this, I really do have to take it "one [day/thing/crisis/step] at a time."