The more I listen to The Format the more I hear themes of death. Tie The Rope is a metaphor about hanging and in Wait, Wait, Wait they sing about not wanting to know when death is coming and life not being long enough. It's just too much to never wake up. Sometimes I can hear my own sorrow in their voices. I started sketching lyrics, and my favorite is one I made up from two of their songs. Smile like you never tried to take your life. When I sit and try to imagine what that smile looks like, I get lost in a world I don't know.

I got really worked up when I got home today. Nicki listened ever understandingly as I couldn't help my voice from getting emotional. This week has been stressful and never ending and I feel like for every two things I do, I still have ten more left. In every class I get anxious about whether the teacher will be able to tell that I'm so far behind and whether or not they'll make me write about what I read. If I do, they should expect a short story about my feelings. I talked to my friend/boss about reducing my hours and was amazed at how uncrazy I sounded. Most of the things I say lately are jumbled words and phrases, the first line of a story and then a crazy long pause.

So I'm sorry if I'm not crazy nice to new people. I am frazzled and awkward and they don't know me yet to understand. I thought maybe by all the times I've complained about being absent or behind in everything or stressed you would have figured out that I am not well. I am sorry I snapped at you. I'm not sorry that I finally let something out. Maybe I seem harsh because I feel worthless, left out, and exhausted, but if you bring it up one more time with a comment about being insensitive, I will more than snap. I will stop talking. I will make it to class on time. I will hide from everything and everyone for as long as I can dig my useless claws in the ground.
I understand so many angles of the situation, I try to keep others in mind who matter more than me, but maybe I wish I sounded more interesting. Maybe I feel lame about my stories always being lame. Maybe I don't like being overwhelmed by fears and anxiety. I'm only rational on the couch.

When I'm alone in a crowded part of campus I wonder if I'll see her. I wonder if all the things I hold as mine are now a part of her as well. I'm scared she'll see me and walk away. I'm scared of word vomit. I chose this silence in the beginning, when I had no stories or interests but just a grocery list of emotions. I never really resolved a moment when I was over myself and I was ready to talk. Does that mean that all of the silence is my part? I was surprised when I found out second hand that she had moved to the city where I live. I was surprised all of my mutual invitations never mentioned her. But it makes sense. Here lately I want to mention her in a story, but then I feel uncomfortable and disconnected. I have no hold on her.
I've only seen her twice here, once before this was her home, when I had a horrible case of food poisoning. The second as my bus sat at a light. Still, she's constantly in my dreams. Some have a warming effect, but most are horrible nightmares of rejection and sorrow and loss. As much as I try to rationalize them, they drive my depression forward. Allison has suggested the only way to get over this is to talk it out. And then my fear silences my heart.