Rainy days and happy pills

I came home from college today to talk to my therapist. Apparently my mother and her are  now in cahoots and have been discussing what they think is best for me (it would have been great to have been included in this conversation). I’m starting to regret how much I’ve confided in my mother about my “mental pollution”. She has a way of becoming overly invested in my problems as if they’re her own. But on the other hand, what did I expect? Her to listen to her daughter cry about being “suspended in between two indefinite realties” and just shrug it off like it’s high school drama? (Yes, I actually did have a breakdown about that. I’ve really got to start filtering out some of the existentialist ramble that comes out of my mouth when I’m trying to explain myself).  I suppose she’s doing what any mom would do. I just hate watching her struggle to understand me.

My therapist asked me to come home every Wednesday for a weekly session. After she got a long blank stare and no response, she changed it to every other week. I still feel weird about this. Adolescents are supposed to visit home less frequently as they mature and create a life for themselves. It seems like I’m going in the opposite direction. For the first two months of college, I barley called my parents. In fact, I was already referring to my dorm as home. But as all of my peers began to settle in, I began to unsettle. My campus was no longer an interesting, foreign place of unlimited freedom but more of a beautiful jail… a fish bowl with pretty statues and decorations for us to swim through. Every positive conception I had of college seemed like a fantasy that I had romanticized in my mind. And thus, the ongoing conflict between my two realities was born.

On a less morbid note, today was perfectly melancholy. The clouds hung heavy and gray, letting an occasional drizzle escape onto our car windshield.  It feels like I’ve been in a haze all day, as if one of the gloomy clouds decided to tag along with me to my therapists’, to the women’s clinic, and even in the car on my way back to school. Perhaps it’s sleep deprivation. Note to self: don’t drink coffee after 4:00pm



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