100% completely utterly losing it.
I can't think about anything.
I feel physically sick, mentally sick.
Absolutely hopeless. I bother my faculty, my family, my boyfriend, my therapist, none can give me answers or point me in a direction that would be good to go on. None can pull me out of this hole. None can make this pain go away.
What the hell happened between last spring and now, and how the hell do I undo it?
I sat down to do work tonight. Work for me, not for school. I just needed to make something, anything. Somehow I ended up bawling, panicing, feeling ill, feeling lost and hopeless and numb and I can't even describe the misery. I want to drop out of school and run away. If it weren't for loans, and the fact that I owe over a hundred thousand dollars to Sallie Mae for those loans, I would do it in a heartbeat, without a second thought. I would take a break from school. I would say fuck everything I've ever done, and go do something different and new, and if I felt like it later, I would come back and finish. Because of loans, I have to stay in school, I need to finish so I can get those damn three letters on my resume, so that they can help me pay back those loans.
And I want those letters. I do want them. I've gone through so much to get this far on the road towards getting them.
If I had known then, before I came to this school, this degree, this major, what I know now, I never, ever would have started down this road. My feet aren't made to travel on it.
And yet, somehow, somewhere in me, there's a part of me that still manages to enjoy it. I do like art, I do like fine art and conceptual art, I love looking at other peoples' work, I love talking about it and discussing it and hearing what they have to say about it. I need to make art, I want to make art that says something that people can look at and, when leaving, take something new away with them. Such a huge part of me wants to do this. But I can't handle the pressure. I can't handle all the weight on my shoulders. There's a part of me that says I'm weak and I'm not made for this. And there's a part of me that's stubborn that says I can, I can handle it and that I am strong enough to carry it through to the end, even if that means I have to trip and fall all the way.
I'm worried about the future. I'm worried that I'll never do the things I want to do, that I'll never enjoy life-that it will always be this endless circle of make-spend-make-spend-make-spend and that I'll forever be tied down by my student loans. I'm terrified of it.
Again, if I had known then what I know now, I never, ever would have come down this road.
I want to move to Ireland. I want to learn more Irish. I want to meet interesting people, I want to experience things, I want to be carefree and serendipity. I want to have friends and family. If I was smart I would have travelled after high school instead of jumping into college. I would have gone off and done something worth while instead of racking up debt and collecting shackles around my ankles.
I want to be happy. I want to enjoy life. I don't want this anymore. I don't want the future to be what it looks like right now.
I'm full of regret.
I'm frozen with doubt.
All I keep asking myself, for the past two weeks, over and over, is "what's the point of life?" and it's scaring the shit out of me.