Some days I think the only thing that’s keeping me alive is pure stubbornness. It’s certainly not a renewed and enlightened opinion of my own existence. I still don’t know why I’m here, and I still don’t know how I feel about being here. Yet I eat. I communicate. I walk to class, and I walk home. I sleep, and wake up again. I go through the motions to spite my lack of enthusiasm.

It’s very likely that this is an unhealthy motive, but it works for me. There’s an element of curiosity too. I feel outside my life, examining it the way I would a novel. Will my family come to graduation, or will they remain convinced that witchcraft somehow contributed to my suicide attempt? Will I break down and throw my fake diploma at my ex at graduation? In fact, will I ever finish that damn degree?  And for the season finale: GRE scores!

I know it’s hard, but try to contain your enthusiasm. Too much excitement makes my blood pressure drop and that makes me see funny little spots, and I don’t like that very much. It’s much easier to pretend that this life is happening to somebody else as long as I avoid becoming emotionally involved with the outcome.

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