Next to last semester of school is finally over. I have a long summer stretching ahead of me. It’s somehow hard to believe that next semester is the last (if all goes well). I’ve been in school forever it seems. Took about two years of medical leave and am finally graduating years behind everybody else.
It sort of amazes me, sometimes, that I’m still alive and am now going to be graduating. My parents never expected me to live past my twenty-first birthday. I never expected to live past my twenty-first birthday. The summer before university began I was seventeen, suicidal, and took my first major overdose less than two weeks after I graduated high school. I spent six or seven weeks in two psychiatric hospitals and came out unwilling to try for a better life. I was convinced self-destruction was my calling, it was the only thing I was good at.
Up until then I had only written a few horrible Dawson’s Creek fanfictions. I went to a poetry reading my first semester of university and began writing poetry ocasionally. My first semester of university was the only one where I attempted to be a part of the university community.
Since then, I changed my major to Creative Writing. I considered and decided against going into the medical field. I decided against becoming a psychologist. I’d love to become a writer but poets don’t make money.
I love writing scripts. It’s what I’d like to do with some formal training.
I haven’t cut or hurt myself myself since the beginning of April 2007. I haven’t purged since early Winter 2008. My last overdose was Fall 2006. I haven’t been hospitalized since April 2007. I haven’t been in therapy since 2007.
I’m alive.
