I'm going to assume now that everybody reading this has at least read (I'm also OBVIOUSLY assuming that somebody is going to read this. At least SOMEBODY should, I'm very interesting) my recent entries and would therefore have picked up on the fact that I AM contradicting myself, making this admittance necessary.
So here is my big contradiction... You know how when it first started snowing in Colchester, I said how it was getting me down because it reminded me of last year and how awful it was? Yeah? Well you know how I THEN said, when I got back to Scunthorpe, that actually the snow made me feel good because although it reminded me of this time last year, that made me realise how far I'd come? Well I'd like to change my mind on that once again, please.
I'm feeling pretty shit. Not horrifically, don't worry. I'm coping. I'm getting out of the house. I'm eating alright. And I'm certainly not about to overdose. Checking off my warning signs- I'm not 'losing' time, I'm not doing excessive list-writing, I'm not afraid to sleep. Blahblah, I'm not high on any of my warning scales. I just... I'm anxious. I have this black cloud of doom over my head and a gnawing pain in my stomach. Fear pulsing through my blood. I ache and I'm exhausted and I am so, so worried.
And I know what I'm worried about and that just makes it worse, because I can't fix it. Maybe you'd have had to have known me last year to understand, I'm sure Lily remembers. I remember. I'm worried, right now I'm terrified of, going into hospital. Understand, right now I have no plans to go into hospital soon, nor do I have any reason to go, or to suppose that I'll have a long stay at any time this year. It would be stupid to expect that I won't have any blips over the next year, or to expect... actually, what I was about to say is irrelevant. Back to now. A year ago I was waiting by the phone, for a call to tell me that I'd be going in, for months, at any time. And that's what's looming over me. The new year, the feel of sitting and waiting.
And sure, now I'm just killing time until I go back to uni. But I think it's the wait that's doing this to me now. Just... waiting. My life is on hold. And although I know now that in two weeks my course, my routine, will be in full swing again and it's not like last year when I knew it'd be months before I even got to have a proper night out, it's hard to really make my subconscious know that. I should have this right, right now, to be able to relax and get myself together; to enjoy my time at home, the place I have missed so much over the last 3 months; but the ghosts of the beginning of last year won't let me. Being at home is making me sick, quite literally. My hard work is being destro- no, not destroyed. I was going to say destroyed but I totally believe that shit like this can only be destroyed if you let it. External forces can't destroy such. And I'm not about to let all I have done be even vaguely damaged.
So I'm going back to uni on Tuesday. Even though that's a week before I need to go, and had you asked me a month ago I'd have told you I planned on spending all the time I could here. I'd have planned on going back the day before my lectures started. But I can't, I need to get out of this house and away from the ghosts, the skeletons (anxious or not, I can still make puns). You know, running away isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes you have to run to protect yourself, there is no sense in facing what does not need to be faced. Taking the easy route isn't being weak, it's actually being damn clever. And so I'm going to look after myself and hope the rest comes together.