When I'm particularly stressed my stomach goes on strike more than usual (we really aren't often pals). Needless to say, I don't feel well. I'm slightly shaky and teared up without any prior notice a few moments ago. Most of my time lately is spent in a haze that roller-coasters from numbness to hot flashes of emotion in as much time as it takes to write one's name.
My mother is busy. I lack the wherewithal to say the simplest of things to those I care about. My lists only extend so far. I need to make phone calls; I am terrified of phone calls. I should pack, but I lack the heart. I don't want to leave, I don't want to leave, I don't want to leave.
I know that it is going to be okay, but the mere knowledge that I will get through this does little for me. I have always worked on this knowledge in some form; one should note that this knowledge is not to be construed as true feeling. In the grand scheme, things have worked out for me - and better than expected - but this doesn't detract from the pain of transition. This hardly sanctions that change is in any way easy.
Achieving higher education has always been the goal, which may be why this change turns me inside out so. It's ominous, an end and a beginning I brought about largely for myself, one thing I had some small control over. Now that it's here, I don't know what to do with myself.
The change is good. The transition is crushingly difficult.
Days until college: 11