Maybe I'm The Mushroom Here
My molecular biology midterm didn't go so well. I haven't gotten the grade yet, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be a disappointing number. I got that I-should-have-studied-more feeling about a third of the way through.
I should have spent a week preparing for that test, but it was all I could do to force myself to study for four days. I can't stop obsessing over The Canadian's situation. I feel like I'm getting better now, but I'm still not 100%. I try to conceal it, because nothing I'm thinking really makes much sense. It's like I have this cognitive understanding of what's happening to him that is completely removed from my emotional response to it. And that emotional response translates into the most random thoughts. For instance, I feel incredibly guilty. Why would I feel that way? It's ridiculous; I know it's ridiculous, yet there it is. I feel inadequate -- like I need to change myself somehow even though I don't feel that that's really possible....
I don't know. I'm not making any sense. And you're probably wondering why my thoughts aren't more focused on The Canadian, since he's the one with all the problems. But I don't have much perspective when it comes to him, I guess. I still feel so connected to him. Not to him so much as to what he represents -- the life we had when we were together. I still feel connected to that relationship -- to what we were as a couple. So much of what I've learned about life has come from the time I spent with him -- so the fact that he's in this position now has made me question everything about who I am and how I operate in the world. More than that, it's made me question life and how unstable and chaotic a place the world can be... how quickly walls can split apart and how unprepared anyone is for impending cataclysmic doom.
I went to see a counselor on Tuesday. We get 12 free sessions per semester. I didn't think I'd have much to say to a counselor, honestly, because until our meeting I really thought I was feeling better. When I started recounting what had happened, though, I could barely get the words out I was crying so hard.
I just have to keep going. I went back to the gym yesterday for the first time in weeks. I'm here at the library now and I'm just going to force myself to read and do homework. I've now spent 45 minutes writing this post; reading over it, I want to hit "delete." So much of what I wrote makes me feel silly when I read it. I keep having these waves of despair (see above) and then I'll feel totally in control (like I do right now). Am I going crazy?
Okay. Now I'm definitely stopping. The kid at the computer next to me just released a toxic amount of gas.
I should have spent a week preparing for that test, but it was all I could do to force myself to study for four days. I can't stop obsessing over The Canadian's situation. I feel like I'm getting better now, but I'm still not 100%. I try to conceal it, because nothing I'm thinking really makes much sense. It's like I have this cognitive understanding of what's happening to him that is completely removed from my emotional response to it. And that emotional response translates into the most random thoughts. For instance, I feel incredibly guilty. Why would I feel that way? It's ridiculous; I know it's ridiculous, yet there it is. I feel inadequate -- like I need to change myself somehow even though I don't feel that that's really possible....
I don't know. I'm not making any sense. And you're probably wondering why my thoughts aren't more focused on The Canadian, since he's the one with all the problems. But I don't have much perspective when it comes to him, I guess. I still feel so connected to him. Not to him so much as to what he represents -- the life we had when we were together. I still feel connected to that relationship -- to what we were as a couple. So much of what I've learned about life has come from the time I spent with him -- so the fact that he's in this position now has made me question everything about who I am and how I operate in the world. More than that, it's made me question life and how unstable and chaotic a place the world can be... how quickly walls can split apart and how unprepared anyone is for impending cataclysmic doom.
I went to see a counselor on Tuesday. We get 12 free sessions per semester. I didn't think I'd have much to say to a counselor, honestly, because until our meeting I really thought I was feeling better. When I started recounting what had happened, though, I could barely get the words out I was crying so hard.
I just have to keep going. I went back to the gym yesterday for the first time in weeks. I'm here at the library now and I'm just going to force myself to read and do homework. I've now spent 45 minutes writing this post; reading over it, I want to hit "delete." So much of what I wrote makes me feel silly when I read it. I keep having these waves of despair (see above) and then I'll feel totally in control (like I do right now). Am I going crazy?
Okay. Now I'm definitely stopping. The kid at the computer next to me just released a toxic amount of gas.
Labels: Postbacc Program, The Canadian
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