Part of Your Complete Screwed Up Life

There is a joke in my family that I never do things the easy way. In order for me to achieve anything, I must get to it the most complicated way possible, even if it's not a complicated process. In other words, I find a way to screw up everything. It's just my nature. Pop used to say I could break an anvil. Then there's the joke about my dark cloud that follows me everywhere. You welcome me into your life, I'll find some way to dismantle things before I leave.

I don't mean to be so difficult. I would like to live a fairly simple existence. I would like for things to come as easy for me as they do for some other people, especially those I deem less deserving (ok, I never said I wasn't a little self-centered). I'm not a fancy girl. I'm low maintenance. I need good music, good books, good friends, and someone to look at me adoringly. Give me some Van Morrison, a glass of wine, dancing in the living room with a someone who thinks I'm the cat's pajamas, and I'm ok.

But I come with baggage.

I have what is called Generalized Anxiety Disorder. This means that occasionally, I will absolutely panic about something that may,to someone else, be no big deal. Like, I used to be terrified of fast food drive-thru windows. You laugh, but it was very real to me. In the first grade, I walked 5 miles toward my house from school because I was scared of being caught without a pencil. I fear that I will board public transportation and it will never stop to let me off. I don't like driving to locations of which I don't intimately know how to get to. I once sat in my car for three hours instead of going to a class I signed up to take in college. Yes, me and this disorder have spent quite a few years together. It's just part of me. Friends joke about my neurotic personality. I hate odd numbers, I don't like things to touch my feet, etc...Yes, it's all cute. But, this paralyzing fear is keeping me from a big step in my life...graduating. I cannot bring myself to take my oral exam. The very thought of it makes me want to slit my wrists. Over the last few days, knowing it was approaching, I've sank into this depression. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin.

Then it hit me. I just can't.

30 credit hours. Six years of my life. A 3.7 GPA. That awful Research class. A summer spent in Digital Publishing. RHETORIC with Jacobi! And I can't do it.

My mind is made up.

So I am researching other grad programs that I can transfer in to. One without an oral exam requirement. I'll lose most of my credit hours and I'm probably staring down another long road of classes.

But still all I need is Van Morrison, a glass of wine, dancing around the living room with a beautiful boy. And I'll be okay.