Office by Alex Penny
My name is Gwendolyn. I am a nineteen year old college sophomore who never accepts a bad high-five and contorts her face at those who mean the most. I don't mean much, really, but I've got a big heart and a mind that means well.
This is my blog. I post and reblog things that I find enticing as well as memories and penchants of my personal life.
If I know you in person and not personally and you ask me about my text posts, I will act like I don't know what you're talking about.
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Today was my last day of ISU counseling and I’m finding it to be a pill difficult to swallow. What for? I have plenty of referrals now to connect with outside and continue to get the help I want. Need. Do I just hate goodbyes? The winds of change? My own self doubt?
Truthfully, I know the goods I have in my life. A loving family, a great education, the most faithful of friends, even a girl who thinks I make the sun shine, who knew. All the same, some days I see what I have, misconstrued: A family I’m only bound to disappoint with my lack of academic moral, friends with their own separate cliques and ties to pull them along, a girl who is only bound to see the bad in a matter of time. Has this way of thinking always been a part of me? I could don some medals for the memory I have, but other than for typical high school awkwardness/lonliness (not to mention mom’s issues), I can’t remember being sad on such a complex level before. They say I usually have to have symptoms that have last a year or two for you to really be considered existent, and Dysthymia, you’re sounding more and more like a something familiar.
I keep on trying to find the right words to express what I’m feeling and I keep on falling back on the same four words: I want no part. No part in the daily actions I must face, no part in the things I see, smell, taste, touch, especially feel, way too much of that. No part in sadness, imagining the carving of wired windows and great leaps, or even joyous of roundabouts, concerts to destroy me and dreams of warm weather to come, bla bla bla, my point is etched. I want to exist without existence. Please don’t know me, my name is fine, but nothing more. Roboticize my identity and forget of any heart I might have, and I’ll hopefully that’ll make me forget too. Winds will blow forth and I will be just. Fine. I want no part.
But really. I’m more or less a sane person. Just a mess some days and every night.
Tomorrow I will look into new counseling, make things better, get the bad I need out gone, but keeping the strength I need to get by. It’s the most idealistic hope I can present, will present, in the present.
