venting to the void

I had a lot of fun writing this. Are there some technicalities that could have been fixed? probably. It was nice to be motivated to write more by such an awesome fan group

"i'm self diagnosed as OCD" he tells the class, "Because I really like to clean."

I see the lecturers lips purse briefly and then break into a smile as they move the conversaition on. I think of my rituals: I cannot drive my car unless i forget something or else something terrible will happen. I have to tap the crossing sign tap tap taptap tap. I pick and pick and pick at my skin if i feel something under there. invisable insects. worms. i am a flystruck sheep. I must feel pain if i am enjoying myself, or else it isn't real.

In the following class i am jaded.

"who don't you know much about?" the lecturer asks.

Men, and i don't want to know them I post annonomusly. Think I am delirious once again to feel something other than dread. I know I have a terrible grade coming in mental health. I have tried so hard to be good at mental health.

The young father besides me scoffs. Hurt. He is the minority in this class. He doesn't know it was me. I have ruined another friendship before it has begun.

In class they mysticise self harm. Something done in the depths of dramatics. An unknown. something *i* would never do is the class conensus. I try and find someone in the crowd. Someone else amongst the young prossionals with white scarrs on their forarm. But mine are covered and so are theirs. I think about it, again and again. A punishment? A reward? hundreds of years ago the religious would to it to feel closer to god. I always thought i'd be a nun if I was raised in a different time. They watch the lady on the screen with BPD. I could never tolerate that they think. I crack a joke "you haven't met my mother." it doesn't land, again. but its true and I say it with love. a volitile personality that digs and digs and fixates and looks for hate where there is nothing. I could cope with this person. I would be good for her. If only I could get my APA 7 referencing correct. I shouldn't rely on the programs they reccomend, don't you know? the way they ask to be remembered doesn't fit neatly in the rubric. I need to know APA 7 if i am to work in healthcare. You can't help someone without it.

On the train there is a cold snap. I am cold outside and inside, dread is cold. I feel a chill down my spine as i have to turn around, irony personofied and tell a lady a decade older than me her writing needs to be true and accurate. She doesn't understand. Isn't it enough she has nice handwriting? She will get the written word out eventually. I hit record instead. I am tired. I am tired. i have no recolection of what people ask me.

i am failing university and i am failing life and every time i reach out someone says "it will be ok." but there's no light at the end of this tunnel. nothing makes it seem ok. I wonder if its the medicine i take, the medicine which is supposed to reinvent me into a new person but its not working. I wonder if its the stress. maybe it's both.

I want to crawl into bed and watch anime and i want to craft and card and spin wool and i want to paint and cuddle my chickens and build amazing structures but i've forgotten my scale ruler and I'm the only one on the floor because my boss is hiding in the arts and craft. "you can do the paperwork" she says. "you're good at that."