I really can’t do this school thing anymore. It’s beyond senioritis and into some serious ADD/don’t give a crap territory. I feel paralyzed and I can’t make any progress on anything. I’m going to have to turn in a major paper very late because I practically had a nervous breakdown while writing it. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve always been a procrastinator, but at least I got things done. Now I can’t even do that. So I put the paper off and moved on to something else – doing critiques for a workshop in my creative nonfiction writing class – something I usually like and can do fairly well. But I can’t do it. I can’t think of anything to say. There’s nothing that can motivate me. This is the unsung hell of anxiety disorders. You let the anxiety keep you from doing things, because they’re too scary to deal with, and that only causes the pile of things you need to do to grow larger and larger. Eventually, it’s an insurmountable obstacle. Usually, I could use my hope for the future to motivate me, but I realized that this is in short supply lately. I don’t think my academic record in college is good enough to get me a job, and I’m just deluding myself if I think I’ll ever be able to move away (because I can’t do that without a job). I’m going to end up working at the mall or a coffee shop, because that’s what an undergraduate English degree gets you. So go to grad school, I always thought. But again, my academic record isn’t good enough to get into a good grad school, probably. I could rely on the strength of my writing to perhaps get me into an MFA program, but I’m probably not that good. It seems as if everyone else in the creative writing program here is doing readings and getting published, and when they read their writing, it’s so much better than mine. Besides, I don’t want to think about grad school when it’s clearly going to take a miracle for me to graduate with my B.A. in May. The idea of more school after that makes me want to munch on the business end of a gun right now.
There’s also the added bonus that even if I do move away, I probably won’t last. I’ll probably be back home, checked into some mental institution after three whole months. College is supposed to be the easiest time to make friends. If I counted all the friends I’ve made at college (friends, not friendly classroom acquaintances), I wouldn’t even use up all the fingers on one of my hands. So if I can’t make friends now, how am I ever going to do it when I don’t have the built-in social infrastructure that college provides? Answer: I’m not, because dogs don’t count as friends. Not legit friends, anyway. Can’t take my dog to the movies or shopping. Can’t talk to him and have him talk back.
I want to just quit school, but if my future’s that bleak WITH my degree, how bad is it going to be without? I wish that I could make a job out of surfing the Internet and watching TV, because that’s all my lazy fat butt enjoys doing nowadays. They’re the only two things that keep up with my mind going 80 miles per hour, the only things that are just the perfect balance of boring and stimulating. That and sleep. I love getting some sleep. Lately it’s been a big issue, though, because I can’t stay awake long enough to get assignments done, and I keep sleeping through important meetings and classes. I enjoy it at the time, but hate myself entirely when I wake up. I simply cannot stay awake. The past two nights, I’ve fallen asleep while doing homework, with my lights on, makeup on, haven’t brushed my teeth or taken my medicine, haven’t set my alarm clock. Then I wake up at 5 or 6 a.m. completely unrested and have to either try and squeeze in a few good hours of sleep or stay awake and finish the homework I was working on when I dozed off. I just don’t know how to control it. And I know that I’ve basically just described something that sounds like “laziness syndrome.” Oh, I can’t do my homework. Oh, I sleep too much. I watch too much TV. But really, I cannot help it. Being confronted with anything besides sleep and television sends me into panic mode. Panic mode wears me out, so I just want to sleep more. Nothing gets done. Nothing, that is, except the further destruction of my academic career. That one I’m accomplishing with ease.