Smile when your heart is breaking.

I need 20 ccs of courage, stat.

I thought I was getting to the point where I can re-conquer the panic: basically, anger. It may be a largely negative emotion, but it's at least constructive. People make better decisions when they're angry. But apparently I'm not quite there yet. I've spent all weekend in my room, a slave to the agoraphobia, and while I'm tired of it, I'm also... strangely willing to let it control me.

Why am I so afraid of changing, even when I'm miserable as I am now? It's not because I'm comfortable, I know that. There's nothing comfortable about that. It could be the attention, I guess, but the one thing I crave most is independence and the ability to be alone. I just want to be normal again.

I need help to get there, but I'm not sure where to get that help. I'm already in therapy and on medication. What more can anyone do for me? What more can I do?

Where's that injection?

Desiderata, or: Give me a reason to try.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste
And remember what peace there may be in silence.

Relapse. It's a deceptively benign word. Not particularly ugly, nor frightening. Just a few consonants and vowel-sounds. Relapse.

I told my psychologist today that I was tired. Tired physically and mentally. Tired of adrenaline always being a bad thing. Panic disorder has robbed me of excitement and anticipation; any time adrenaline surges in my veins, even a little, it's fear. It's always fear. Tired of having my independence robbed from me. Tired of being a slave to all these pills. Tired of trying--and failing--to convince myself that it's not my fault, it's a disease like any other, I did nothing to bring this on myself and there's nothing shameful in being sick.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

The receptionist in my school's clinic has a daughter with Sensory Integration Dysfunction, and she brought me in a few books today. The Highly Sensitive Person's Survival Guide; The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You. They're comforting.

What's not so comforting: crowds, neon lighting, excessive warmth, loud noises, high-pitched noises, too many different noises at once, flourescence, the reflections of metallic/shiny objects, headlights, taillights, streetlights, bare lightbulbs, colored lightbulbs, garishly patterned things, strong perfume and cologne, the smell of industrial cleaning supplies, unexpected movements, strangers in close proximity, strangers touching me, unexpected touches in general. Those are just the triggers I've found so far. My family physician wants me to see an occupational therapist to learn how to deal with it, but that has to wait until summer, if it happens at all. But I need to learn how to deal with it. I want to be a normal, functioning human being again.

Therefore be at peace with God
Whatever you conceive Him to be

I wish so much that I had faith in anything, but I don't. The only thing I know with any certainty is that life is inexorable, in me and in everyone and everything else. But I wish I could lean back on a greater truth, that there was something to cushion the fall. My mom said to me this week that she could have kicked herself for not taking my sister and I to church as children. She said that even though she didn't attend and didn't really consider herself any type of Christian, she still believed in something called God and prayed when she needed support or comfort.

I don't pray. I take medication. I try to keep myself occupied. I grasp at straws. I call people. I wish I could pray and feel God but when I try, I just feel silly, and there's a big part of me that says, 'What are you doing? Why are you wasting your time? You don't really expect to feel anything, do you? You won't; there is no God.'

Whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life
keep peace in your soul

I'm doing okay. I'm on top of things. I'm in touch with all my professors and they all know that I am doing the best I can, and they know I would be doing more if I could. I'm an academic. Class is what I love.

They're cutting me slack because they know I'm sick. I can't cut myself slack because I feel, deep down, like I deserve this. And I don't know how to dissuade myself.

So I meditate and I read inspirational books like the ones Betty gave me, and I keep my room smelling softly of lavender and rose, calming scents; I listen to white-noise tracks of the ocean and I make myself go to bed early so I get enough sleep. But it's just not enough.

Peace. I want peace. Sometimes I think the only peace is the one that comes after life, and then I yearn for that. A couple times I've come close to acting on it, but then I remember what his death did to me, and I wonder how I could ever even consider doing that to my little sister, to my parents, to my few true friends. And there's part of me that still believes life is what I want, and that part, though small, is strong. So I cling to it as much as I can.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

I am trying. I will succeed. To finish is to win and I'll finish. I'll finish no matter what it takes.

Other things I am currently obsessed with, besides the aforementioned U. S. of Tara:

• "Jolene" by Dolly Parton (surprising, given my ambivalent disdain for country);
• Jane Kenyon;
• Italo Calvino's The Baron in the Trees;
• Italo Calvino's anything;
• Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (on which I might be doing my thesis);
• Big Love (HBO);
• hummus;
• my cats;
• Le Magazine Litteraire (which I can only read with the help of the French dictionary which never leaves my side);
• sensory perception;
• holistic medicine;
• memory/nostalgia.

Also, I want to write something. I had a poem tonight at the very cusp of existence, while I was outside with my sister in the trees, but I lost it by the time we'd come in. I think I'll go try to salvage what I can.

Dutch Interiors, Jane Kenyon Christ has been done to death in the cold reaches of northern Europe a thousand thousand times. Suddenly bread and cheese appear on a plate beside a gleaming pewter beaker of beer. Now tell me that the Holy Ghost does not reside in the play of light on cutlery! A Woman makes lace, with a moist-eyed spaniel lying at her small shapely feet. Even the maid with the chamber pot is here; the naughty, red-cheeked girl. . . . And the merchant's wife, still in her yellow dressing gown at noon, dips her quill into India ink with an air of cautious pleasure.

I try not to inflict the psych-talk on people who aren't related and therefore obliged to still love me despite the neuroses, but I feel the urge to share right now, so. I will.

I've hit another low point. Not nearly as bad as it was freshman year, not at all. But it's the worst I've been since then. The anxiety is back, and with it, the depression. Of course, all of this only feeds into (and is, in turn, fed by) the ocular migraines I've been having, which also trigger my newly diagnosed Sensory Processing Disorder (otherwise known as Sensory Integration Dysfunction). The good news is, I've seen all my doctors, and I've got everything I need--a fresh prescription of klonopin, a hearty dose of Prozac, and a whole army of vitamins and supplements (Vitamin C, Vitamin D, calcium, Omega-3, and Vitamin B-Complex).

Still, the agoraphobia is there. I try to face it down, but it almost won last time. It didn't, but it was a close contest, so it's frightening. But it's going to be okay, because I'm even more determined this time. I did win last time, even if it was by a hair, and the last eighteen months were... wonderful. I have never in my life felt that good. And I'm going to feel that way again.

Plus I've got a whole slew of new tools. One is prompts that my parents can use if I call them in a panic. Another is the weekly therapy, which I wasn't doing before. I also have a few truly amazing friends at school who I know I can always count on--I'm not as alone as I was freshman year. And I've got goals to keep in mind when I feel like I'm too tired to go on. These include:

- Blowing my Honors Thesis out of the water.
- Going to California within the next two years to see Dono and Tiff and 'Rina and Bek. <3 style="text-align: center;">::::::::::

On another note, I've been watching Showtime's U.S. of Tara, and I have to say, I love Toni Collette.

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AND! HOT TIP! In case you didn't know, you can download free tracks from Amazon.com. Not all of them are great, but there are a few pleasant surprises in there. Instructions:

1. Go to Amazon.com.
   
2. Choose 'Digital Downloads' from the sidebar, and in the list that pops up, 'MP3 Downloads.'
3. In the search bar at the top, choose 'MP3 Songs,' and hit 'Go.'
4. Knock yourself out!
   

Official Resolution #1: I will daydream more.

I fell into the habit of thinking I was lonely as a kid because I was usually alone. The thing is, I wasn't lonely. Ever. I had plenty of company in my stories, whether I was thinking them out in my head, or playing them out physically, or even--clumsily--writing them out. My first story was about a girl with no voice who must, nevertheless, save the world from evil. I found my voice while she overcame her own silence.

Through middle school and high school my stories matured, but they were still as vivid and vital as ever, taking over my thoughts. I'm relatively certain they're what kept the anxiety at bay for so long.

I had my iPod on shuffle tonight while working on my Faulkner paper for American Lit, and, right in a row, three of my old favorites came on--the Backstreet Boys, John Mayer, and Snow Patrol. (Yes, I know the latter two are still performing, but these were from old albums.) All three were songs I used to listen to on repeat on my Walkman, working through a scene. I felt fiercely homesick for the simple joy of creating a story for myself.

I need to daydream more. I think it'll be good for me.

Did you hear about the boy who burnt down the Kingdom Hall?

He was trying to light the bee on fire.

True story.

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I don't know why professors expect us to get any work done the week before Spring Break. Have they all forgotten their own undergraduate experiences?

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On the other hand, professors can surprise you. It's nice when you find one who hasn't forgotten what it's like to behave like a normal human being.

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Raisinets are boss.

Give me a reason to try.