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A couple years later and yes, I still exist. I'm still mildly unstable, but only enough to keep things interesting. I still take on more projects than I can handle, I still go to school for Biomed Art at CIA. I did stop using blogs though. So if you want to know how I am... ask!

That last entry was an incredibly turbulent time. Wracked with anxiety, depression, and hopelessness, I wrote that instead of my research paper. I couldn't do it anymore. I gave up. I wanted to die. I tried. I don't think I actually wanted to die, I just wanted to get out. I wanted none of it to exist anymore. I couldn't think of any other way except to kill myself. So I went, handed in my confession and last testament to my teacher and prepared to attempt a fatal overdose. Needless to say that didn't work, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Instead of dying, I spent a week in a psychiatric ward, where I was trapped on the third floor, no porch,

The Goddess and the Dream: Women in Male Surrealist Art. Dammit hart, I can't fucking do this. First, I picked the wrong topic, it's too vague. I can't sift through all the available material to get any cohesive argument going. I don't have enough time to do it, and I don't have the willpower anymore. This has been the semester of hell, sick every other week, neurological meltdowns, psychological meltdowns, roommate drama, sexual harassment and subsequent police involvement, getting robbed, all of it. I just can't even find the strength of character to make up some bullshit about women and surrealism. I honestly don't care. I don't even kn