Back At It

Hello! My god, I haven’t posted on this blog in forever. I made my new blog so that I could separate my posts about motherhood from personal posts, but I guess I’ve learned that once you have a child, there is no separating your parenthood from your personal life. In a way it’s wonderful to be tied to someone like that (I mean, she’s literally 50% me), but on the other hand it’s a little exhausting.

I guess this post will be more of a rant if anything.

So this semester is my first time taking a full course load (12 credits) in a year. I honestly thought I could handle it, but I’m starting to find that I really, really can’t.

Here are the reasons why I’m freaking the fuck out:

1) More credits

Last semester I only took 6 credits online. The spring before that I took 12 in class. But there’s a difference.

The 6 I took last semester were psychology classes, and I already have a good foundation of psychology behind me. I already knew, for the most part, what was going on, or I would just have to build on my existing knowledge. Now, I’m planning on switching majors to business (marketing to be exact), and I have absolutely no experience with college level business courses. So not only are there more, but they’re all brand new, and require a COMPLETELY different frame of thinking than my psychology classes did.

2) Online

The 2 classes I took online last semester were nothing. I already had a lot of previous knowledge and they were pretty simple for the most part. Plus, they were both “pace yourself” classes with no fixed schedules.

The classes I’m taking this semester are COMPLETELY different. They have weekly schedules and deadlines to meet, and there are a lot more assignments than my previous classes had. I’m finding it exceedingly difficult to be able to keep up with the course work.

I feel like if I had taken these classes in-class rather than online I would be under a lot less stress, because in class I would have people to talk to and a lecture to listen to, but in my house, not only do I have to combat the feeling of general laziness, but I have my daughter to take care of.

3) Ember

My baby is not even 3 months old yet. She requires A LOT of care. Her day works like this: nap for 1 to 2 hours, wake up, eat, poop, play, sleep again. Repeat. High school had gotten me adjusted to this “do all of your homework in one sitting” mindset, and that worked for me for 5 years. Now all of a sudden it’s “constantly start and stop, and sometimes stop in the middle of a thought because the baby is crying”. Ember has finally gotten into the habit of sleeping 5-6 hours in a row at night, every night like clockwork starting at midnight. For the first week I thought “Maybe if I try to get it all done during that time span I’ll be good”. But no, no I won’t. Turns out staying up all night when you have a baby will kill you during the day.

When Ember is awake, she wants to be entertained. She will actually cry of boredom. I have to play with her. If I sit her down in front of the TV, she’ll usually stop fussing and watch, but the thing is that I don’t want to do that to my baby. I don’t want her to be a brain-dead TV head before she’s even 1 year old. I’ve considered dropping her off at my relative’s house some days of the week so I can go to a library or something a study in peace, but the weather is so bad that every time she goes out she ends up getting sick and I can’t let that happen.

So pretty much, I am a nervous wreck.

My anxiety had gotten better over the past month, but recently it’s almost been right back where it used to be.

Thankfully I don’t have suicidal thoughts like I used to. It was a really rough 2 months after Ember was born, but thankfully I’ve been able to pull myself out of that. This anxiety is more like an, “I am so stressed and I have so much to do that I literally can’t function thinking about all the stuff I have to do”.

People don’t understand how dangerous the “depression/anxiety” pair works when it comes to academics.

The depression, by itself, leaves me hollow and unfeeling. It leaves me paralyzed in bed unable to move, sometimes so numb that I let my daughter cry for about 10 minutes before I have the strength to get up and give her whatever she wants.

The anxiety, by itself, makes my body start to overheat, and I start having panic attacks over the smallest things. Little arguments can make me cry and hyperventilate. Thinking about something stressful can make me heat up and start nervously scratching myself until I bleed.

The depression and anxiety together puts me in bed, with no energy, scratching myself until my arms bleed while my head hurts trying to strategize a way to get all my work done in time. Once I have my mental homework schedule planned out, I remain in bed, still without energy, and panic, constantly revising my schedule because I lack the mental capacity to execute it with efficiency. When I finally get the energy to get my textbook out, the words are blurry and my mind is racing with panic and I start to cry because I am so worried about failing that the thought of failing is what is actually leading to my failure.

You can read that paragraph and tell me I’m insane, and others will probably agree with you, but I swear to god that describes me on a good week.

I feel in my heart that I won’t go spiraling into a pit of suicidal depression again, but I’m feeling such a horrible stress I’ve never felt before, and I honestly don’t know where it will lead me.

Advertisements

Getting Older Growing Colder

Winter certainly greeted me with a bang this morning.

I was getting ready to go to the grocery store. I looked out the window and saw patches of snow on the grass, but nothing more. I was pretty upset ’cause I was expecting a blizzard and a little more winter action but you know, you take what you can get.

I took one step outside and then WHOOPS, I slipped and fell on my bum. It scared the shit out of me, it was so unexpected. I looked around and saw there was ice everywhere and I was like, well, here’s the winter action I was looking for. It was a terrifying 10 minute march to the busstop as I obsessively watched my every step.

Winter. My favorite season. Also the literary symbol of death, or an end.

To be more exact, the end of my first semester in college.

It feels so strange! It seems like just yesterday I was filling out college apps hoping University-sempai would notice me.

It seems like yesterday I was a 5 year old letting go of my mom’s hand and walking onto the school bus for the very first time. It was raining hard that day. I sat alone on the bus and started sobbing because I was scared. I remember walking into the school and thinking it was a palace. It was gigantic to my small 5 year old self.

I remember growing older. I remember being an 8th grader, out of elementary for 2 years. I remember going back and thinking it was absolutely tiny, wondering how I could have ever thought it was a palace.

I remember growing older still. I remember just this past summer, in June near the end of the school year, going back to that elementary school again for the first time in another 4 years and thinking it had shrunk yet again.

But of course, it’s not shrinking. I’m getting taller. And older. Much, much older. On my last visit I found out that I have only one teacher left that taught me that is still there. My first grade teacher. That’s incredible. Of all my teachers, the one I had 12 years ago is the only one still there. Unfortunately she wasn’t there the day I visited, but I saw her picture in the year book and for some reason I was stunned.

She was tiny. She was a little old lady with a sunken face and a full head of white hair. I don’t know why, but I walked in expecting to see the same bright young (all things considered) brunette that taught me 12 years ago.

It was a shock. I’m getting old. I’m getting so, so old. I’m 18. There is no one holding my hand anymore.

Then I thought again.

Yes, there is someone holding my hand. My boyfriend. I am 18. For all I know, in 5 years I could be married with a child, and that is bone-chilling and frightening.

A few days ago, my best friend lost her virginity. A part of me was screaming “You’re just a child! You’re too young!” But then I remembered, no, she’s not. She’s 18. I was 17 when I lost my virginity.

We’re not babies anymore. We’re old.

This winter, I complete my first semester in college. It feels like the first day of school was just yesterday, I can’t even process that this season is through. Time is going by so quickly.

I’m going to say that this winter is death. The death of my childhood. Of course childhood is subjective and I’m only as old as I feel, and the truth of the matter is that I’m still an 18 year old at the very beginning of my life, but sitting here thinking about my younger days makes me feel like a wistful old woman.

The Beginning

I haven’t written a post in a few weeks. The reason for that is because I’ve been busy with friends and family pretty much every minute of every day for the past few weeks.

The reason for that is because I leave for college in *checks calendar* 6 days.

It’s the end of my childhood, and the beginning of the rest of my life. I am 18. If I double that age, I’ll be 36. As a 36 year old, I could be married with 2 kids and have a steady career as a therapist.

Today I got back from a short 3 day vacation with my family and boyfriend. When I dropped him home and said goodbye, I unexpectedly started crying.

This entire time I’ve been thinking that I’m completely ready to go away for college and be on my own. I’m ready for adult responsibility and I want to take care of myself. But now that the day is so close, I know I’m not. Not yet, anyways.

Reasons why I don’t want to go:

  • I’m scared. I’m going to a school with one of the biggest campuses in the state and it’s terrifying. I have pepper spray, but you know, what good will that do if an assailant grabs me from behind and holds my hands back?
  • I’m alone. I have no friends going, besides 2 people I met through Facebook. It’s not too much comfort, since I don’t know them… Talking to people is something I can’t do easily. I’m terrified of strangers. I hide behind my friends and make friendships through them.
  • I’m spoiled. I don’t even know how to do laundry. If my mom didn’t remind me, I wouldn’t drink water or eat at normal times or even go to sleep before midnight. I have never been without my parents for more than a week (and when they were gone I stayed with my grandma who babied me as well). I don’t know how to take care of myself.

Reasons why I have to go:

  • I’m spoiled. For heaven’s sake, my 18th birthday party costed about as much as my first year of college will. I don’t know how to do anything for myself. I’m too scared to talk to cashiers or sales assistants, I don’t know how to do laundry or ask for help. I’m pretty much a big baby. I need to learn how to take care of myself. I need to learn how to do things by myself with no hand-holding.

We learn in psychology that when babies first start walking on their own, they do it with their hands raised because that’s how they learned to do it with their parents helping them. Right now, that’s me. Socially, anyways. I can’t do anything without asking my parents or friends for help first. I will fall a few times, but I need to walk by myself without expecting someone to catch me if I stumble.

My mom keeps saying it’s like the first day of kindergarten. You don’t know anyone, you’re in a big new school, but you adjust and you adapt. The reason that that doesn’t work for me is that I’m not 5 anymore. I don’t have this bright, willing, optimistic everyone-is-trustworthy attitude. I’m more reserved than I used to be.

I miss my friends already. One day they might be “my old friends” or “those kids I knew in high school”, and that thought also scares me.

I can’t really think of a good way to end this post. I want to say that I know that I’ll be alright, but I don’t. I want to say that I have faith that things will work out in the end, but I don’t know. I’m not sure what will happen.

All I can say for certain is that I’ll try. I’ll try to make friends, I’ll try to do laundry, I’ll try to do everything. And if I fail — which I consider caving into my mom’s recommendation of transferring to the college 15 minutes from my house — then that says a lot about how I’ll manage myself in the real world.