Journal

During the day, when I'm stressed, I get drowsy. At night, when I'm stressed, I get insomnia. Garr! By the time Friday afternoon came around last week, it had already taken me a year to gather the courage to hop in my car and drag my reluctant and nervous self to campus. I would finally talk to an advisor within the journalism department. Even if I've killed my journalistic career in one or two grand sweeping blows last year, I needed to have this confirmed by an expert. Although it wasn't so hard to see a general advisor and, at her suggestion, start seeing a therapist on a regular basis, the very thought of seeing an advisor from my major has been as frightening as that of putting one's hand into an active blender. I can't exactly explain why, but I think it might have something to do with bawling my eyes out the last several times I've seen the drop-in advisor there. I had managed to move forward, in other aspects, towards reviving my academic spirits, but this singular fear held me back from registering for fall. My parents, being as nurturing and as accepting as they knew how, could not help but give me another hard time about this and I was a mess for a week, sobbing into the boyfriend's arms. For years, I had felt like only the fear of death was keeping me alive. At that moment, I really wanted to give up.

Consequentially, I made no effort to see my therapist, to whom I am still uncomfortable about pouring out my problems. Several weeks later, she warned me that she would soon have to close my file, so please contact her. I've already been so unreliable with our sessions in the past, I'm almost too apologetic to keep further appointments with her. However, I need to continue seeing her if it would help me look favorable in the eyes of the academic board.

 So, back to last Friday.  It had taken me another several months to gather the courage to see the drop-in advisor at the J school.  Every inch that my tires took me closer, my heart seemed to pound faster.  With every quarter I slipped into the parking meter, I felt my lungs shrink smaller.  By the time I was in front of the advisor's office, I could hear my heart playing drums on my brain.

Much to my dismay, none of the advising faculty were in.  I don't know how the kid at the front desk  saw me then, but I do recall growing faint.  

I could not stand to wait for another drop-in.  I knew it'd take me another several months to commit.  So, this time, I set up an appointment with the associate dean for advising.  Gawd.

Monday at 3:30 AM, I am still wide awake and in agony.  I have that 11 o'clock appointment with the dean and I'm too tense to sleep.