Bloo

It's been years since I was really into journaling. I used to set aside a little time every day to write something, anything, because it helped me process my emotions and really get to the thick of things. (Of course, this was also around the time I was first diagnosed with BPD — Bipolar Disorder.) Somewhere along the way I just felt that I didn't have time for it, and — as the depression really started to set in — I didn't know how to really talk about myself or my life anymore.

 

A lot has changed since then, however...

 

I am now a twenty-seven year old (okay, nearly twenty-eight year old) college freshmen. I dropped out of school in the 10th grade (though I used to say it was the 11th grade as though that really mattered). It took me nine years to get my GED, and then nearly a year later I finally put my application in at a local college and suffered through my first semester (summer, ugh). I have a 4.0 GPA, and it makes me incredibly anxious to think about. (I feel that it's necessary that I maintain that GPA because I want to be competitive when I apply to the nursing program!) I'm starting Fall semester next week.

 

Maybe you're sitting there thinking, "Hey, you're really doing well. You should keep your chin up!" I wish that I could, but there always seems to be something to keep my nerves occupied. For example... I can't drive. I need to drive, but I can't because 1) I don't have a license and 2) this wasn't a skill that my parents ever really thought to teach me. Driving schools are expensive, and when I think about getting on the road and giving it the old college try (that thing that took me ten years to do anyway) I get a little...panicked. I drove once to a mall; thirty minutes on back-roads and when we made it to a four way stop with traffic lights, well... I panicked and slammed us into a parking spot so fast I think I gave my passenger whiplash.

 

It's a work in progress. 

 

I also have a son. He's six now. Six. I'm not sure where all this time has gone — and I know it's a bit of a cliche to say — but... It surely feels like we just brought him home. I'm not really much of a maternal person, but my son is this amazing little wonder that I never imagined myself being apart of. I'm not sure what my life would be like without him, but I truly do not believe I would be on the path that I am on now if it wasn't for him. ♥ 

 

As of the 20th, I'll have been married for seven years. My marriage has not been without it's trials, to say the least. My husband has PTSD, and for over a year I was his care taker on top of working full time, taking care of our son, and maintaining our home... I became very tired at some point and very hollow. I wish I could say that I regret all the harsh things I have spoken or have done, but in many ways they are responsible for the mending of my marriage... Things are not "all good" yet, but we're getting there day by day. 

 

I wish I could use this post to jot down every major thing that's happened in my life thus far to give you a general idea of where I am now, but really... That would be too long. There were so many things, so many people that I felt needed to be removed from my life, so much heartache... But I feel ever the stronger for it, and maybe I am the strongest that I've ever been in my life because of it all... Who knows? 
 

I'll just say welcome to my new friends. Welcome. I hope to get to know and befriend many of you.