I'm not sure what's going on.

I was doing so well. I'm back at Purchase, my (new) roommate is absolutely amazing, and I'm loving my classes (all but one that I hate). I wasn't living in a fantasy, I was feeling happy, I was feeling like I was doing something that wasn't pointless. I was excited about the writing classes I'm taking and how it'll help me immensely. I was pumped about my birthday coming up in six days.

Wednesday in class, I actually raised my hand and gave my opinion in a workshop. For each of the four stories we critiqued. That was the a breakthrough in my mind. I wish I had someone to share it with. It was the most courageous thing I've done in years. Even after the first time I spoke, and my face turned bright red and I ran out of breath because I was panicking and hyperventilating, I did it again. I spoke four times. In one class. I don't know if you realize how absolutely huge that is for me. How, writing it now, brings me to tears because it has always been the single hardest thing for me to do since elementary school. And I did it four times in one class period.

Sure, I was freaking out about the piling medical bills and the increasing loan amounts, and my mom and I aren't really talking, but I wasn't depressed.

But last Thursday, I had a mental breakdown of sorts. Instead of feeling overwhelmed about financial shit, I felt sad. Depressed. Like crying. I couldn't do anything. I didn't even want to write. Then my roommate got back from class and I tagged along with her to the mall, and I was feeling better. If I didn't have Angela as a roommate, if I was stuck with someone like Rachel who couldn't care less that she shared a room with another human being, I don't know what would have happened. Angela has no idea what she did for me, but just caring that I exist really helped.

It's always been the fact that I've always been alone that has gotten me down and hindered me from getting back up. Sometimes I would text my friends, but I feel like I'm losing them. Sammy, I just don't know what's going on with her. She seems to gloss over anything I say. McKayla, she's been scarce in contacting me and replying to my messages. Jess, well, she works and is always busy. I'm not afraid of losing Jess, but McKayla and Sam. I have no idea what's going on with them. There have been so many things that I've wanted to share with McKayla, but just didn't think I should because we're not talking that much. And I've tried sharing my stories and stuff with Sam, but with no response from her. I don't know if I'm the one changing, or if Sam is, but our friendship is changing as well. And I don't like it. But I don't know how, or even if, I should say something.

I actually had the urge to cut. I don't know why. But I honestly did. A couple times this weekend I had to stop myself. It's because Angela is here and we share a small room together and it's too warm to wear long sleeves all the time that I didn't. When winter comes along, I don't know if that argument will still work on myself. I have a pencil sharpener, and I have rubbing alcohol to clean it.

But I was also spiraling downward in my breakdown Thursday and this weekend. Angela went home for the weekend, so what did I do? I went right back into a fantasy. I did it to stray away from the thoughts of wanting Ethan back, or wanting to contact Lazar. Yeah, apparently, somehow, I'm back on them. I want to bitch-slap some sense into me. Why the fuck would I go back to fucking Ethan? From how many years ago? Three now? (Why does it feel like it should be so much longer than that?) But the point is it feels like years and years ago. So why did I fall asleep, clutching my pillow, wishing I could go back in time and do something different with him? Why did I desperately want to erase any hard feelings between us and somehow resurrect any tiny sliver of interest he might have had for me? Why did I dwell on the fact that I once loved him?

I'm just not sure what is going on. Maybe if I do cut, or become bulimic (those are the type that up-chuck every meal, right?), I'll be sent away to a mental hospital. Why do I feel like I want that? Why do I feel like I even need it? I don't know.

I just don't know what to do. Except maybe start using a twisty eyeliner instead of a pencil.