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Not All That Is Raw Can Be Cooked

Posted 09-11-2017 at 10:08 PM by Ludlum'sDaughter14
Okay, it's been a week since I last posted. A crazy week. This is the first semester when I'm taking only five classes instead of six, and the first semester I think I'll still like all of them by the end. But all of them require extensive reading assignments, so I've been spending my afternoons and evenings with my textbooks for company. Still getting used to time management on the new schedule. I arrive to almost every class within seconds of the bell. (Then again, what else is new?)

Last week I concocted a stew, which I think I posted about, and also sauteed carrots, onions, and scallions quite a bit. I think last week was also when I cooked and ate turnip greens a couple times. I ate rice, but found once again that I can't eat it for too many meals straight in a row without getting heartburn. Weird, huh?

Part of the reason for my amnesia is that it's been a busy time full of people and ideas and deadlines. Part of it is because some stressful things have been happening on the side. I hesitate to call Friday night the worst night I've had at home, because my own depression and anxiety has taken me lower than many outside experiences. If the same thing had happened a few years ago, I would have probably been more traumatized. But now I'm mainly disappointed that things have gotten to this point.

It sounds so unfeeling, especially considering I couldn't stop crying just three nights ago. Actually, that's the right word - unfeeling. I'm not really feeling much about it anymore. All the frustration over the years has proven pointless, and now I just want it all to be done. I don't want to deal with the junk I can't improve. Do they realize how much it all hurts me? I wish it didn't hurt, but I can't block it out. So I'm just avoiding it all and not thinking about it except as an outsider, pretending this is not my life or my relationships. I back away and close myself in my room for hours.

I just erased everything I wrote after this point because it sounded too melodramatic. I started thinking about what happened when we put my cat down, and I got distracted. Anyway, I guess the point was I'm not good at processing things. I squelch my emotions until they come out in weird and unexpected ways. And I don't really cry unless I feel helpless to deal with what is bothering me. But I couldn't stop crying on Friday night, during the event and afterwards. Now a fog surrounds those memories, as it does many before them. They seem distant, unimportant, and easy to ignore.

I'm going to see a professional counselor tomorrow. I can't live this way anymore. I feel numb, discouraged, hopeless. The things I normally enjoy don't bring me out of my stasis. Where is passion? Where is joy? A question with no answer is this saga of disappointment. Alone, I've held this shrapnel inside me for so long, as another layer of tissue covers it over, and another, and another...
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