I'm coming closer to figuring out the problem. Here's one more piece of it: I feel like everyone else I knew from college is starting that whole real life thing. I'm not moving forward at all, and when it comes down to it, I'm nothing more than a cashier. I don't want this to be my life story.
I want to go back to school because I am not happy.
I'm worried that I'll be wrong again. And I'm worried that I'll never be right.
If my body would allow me, I'd probably be crying every day.
At least some things can be constant, like the way it feels when I'm fighting against the weight. And I am in control. Maybe that's what's happening right now. I'm pushing and pulling and causing myself all this pain--deliberately breaking myself down so I can come back stronger the next time.
But I worry about there even being a next time. Fatigue is starting to overcome me. And it hasn't even been a year.
I can't imagine living the rest of my life like this. I'd rather die.
Something is wrong.
Now I'm going to go watch a cute puppy or two.
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