My word

 I am currently sitting in a cubicle on the second floor of the library with tea stains on my pants and shirt- along with gallons of water in my eye just waiting to pour out. I am not where I want to be. I am not who I want to be, and it makes me so upset because I feel like I've been working so hard in the wrong direction. While I enjoy my major- it is not what I want to do. I know just because you get a degree in something doesn't mean you have to stick with it, but it hurts to watch other people pursuing what I want to do. It is so hard to focus my time on work, that I feel does not matter to me in the long run. But I am also embarrassed to pursue what I want because people who are close to me whose opinions I care about oppose my passions and desires. People claim to understand me, but I don't feel like anyone truly does. My brain is so scattered and it is hard for me to get information out. Instead of letting that information flourish, I feel like people try to conceal

2/6/2022 Recently what has pondered my thoughts throughout the night has been- what do I do about this? Being someone who suffers constantly from "paralysis by analysis", undiagnosed, I find myself quite a few times thinking and thinking and thinking. My mind is like a growing tree for every thought I have. It starts with a planted seed, specifically any thought, roots take you to the stump, which leads to the trunk, evolving into branches, each branch with mini branches, and each mini branch with a few twigs For example, what will I wear today? A daily task we must all figure out. For some- this question is quite simple, roll out of bed and choose the first pair of pants I see, and attempt to find a shirt that generally matches. For others- this could be a changing room situation, trying on multiple items of clothing trying to make sure the outfit is fire. For me, I take the second option to the extreme. First I must consider the weather. Well if its sunny I want to wear thi

2-14-2022         I started my trek to the blood drive trucks on campus in hopes that I would be able to get my blood drawn so that I could donate it and save lives. However, one thing has always held me back. My biggest fear, needles. They're pointy, sharp, and they hurt you by penetrating your arm. Mostly anywhere there's a nurse or doctor- the weapon is present. When I was younger I always knew when I was getting a shot, because I had to know in advance to mentally prepare myself, otherwise it wouldn't go well. Even still, sometimes it would go horrible even with months of preparation. I remember specifically two distinct times I went to the doctor's office and it went terrible. Of course, there are more times than I can count, but these two go in the best of all-time book.     First, when I was receiving my shots for high school I fought the nurses and they had to bring in 3 to pin me down to the table and give me a shot. I did indeed apologize afterward for my beha