presentations, practicals, and finals; oh my!

I'm aware that if I blogged more and adventured more on here, I'd probably get some more followers.

Oh, well, I'm a busy bee lately. Finals week is next week.

The month of April is hell in a handbasket for a college student. Presentations, practicals, and finals, oh my!

I kind of have no idea what to write about. I just know I want to write.

I've been kind of on the miserable side lately. I seem to be that way often.

That's not really who I am. At least, for a good three year chunk of my life, I was, for the first time, perfectly content.

My senior year of high school was the -best- year of my life, in so many aspects. I was 17, the perfect age. Old enough to complain that you were an adult and could do whatever, and young enough that when things go wrong, you can say you were still a kid. I was pretty, and I knew it. I had a certain confidence about me that I had never before had in my life, and it showed. I was valedictorian, captain of the colorguard, section leaders in both band and choir, co-director of the musical, scholar challenge team b captain...I had so much going for me. I had the best friends in the world, and I finally erupted into that social butterfly that had taken so long to come out. I was FUN.

Now, mind you, I had the right kind of fun. It wasn't like I was a deliquent getting drunk every Saturday night. But rarely did I spend a weekend at home. I was always going bowling, or to the mall, or to the movies with my constant on-again-off-again. I knew how to make everyone laugh. I was the best friend that I could possibly be. And in return, I felt the love comin in from every direction.

And now? I am still on speaking terms with -two- of those friends. And in the 2 years I have graduated, I have accomplished -nothing.- I have a 3.3 GPA. Good, but mediocre in my standards. I spend my time chasing after guys who are terrible for me, and crying when it doesn't go well. I can count my friends on one hand (They are worthwhile friends though :]). I rarely put on makeup (or wear jeans for that matter), and to see me smile, and I mean really smile...is a rareity.

I get random bouts of euphoria, sure. And for a moment, I feel like I'm me again. I feel like I just might be that Stanley Steemer or Joyce that everyone knew and loved. But then I come crashing back down, and I am simply Amanda again. Not that Amanda isn't who I am, but the name is symbolic to me. It's one of the (if not the) most popular names of the 90's. So it's unoriginal. Unspecial. Generic. (No offense to my parents.) And that's how I feel. No one special. I'm terrified of walking through my life alone. I used to relish my time alone.

Now I can't stand it.

I've spent a good 75% of my year sleeping or crying.

I don't even know what happened to me. I'm lonely. Even though there are people all around me on a daily basis, I'm lonely. Like there's a big gaping hole in my heart that I can't fill on my own.

If you look Amanda up in a name dictionary, it means "worth of love". I'm a little skeptical in my case. I feel like a totally worthless human being for a good percent of my existance. This not only affects me in relationships, but, often I wonder what my purpose even is. I don't think life is all suffering as the Buddhists say. But, it does seem to be all I do. I'd like to find someone I can share things with. Someone that fills that void. Someone who won't lie to me or hurt me. Someone who cares about everything I say or do. I want to mean something to somebody.

A friend once told me that I should see someone. You know, like a counselor. I don't like the idea. Everytime I look at the health center and contemplate it, a bubble pops in my head with my mother's voice booming out. "You want to be a psychologist?! How can you deal with other people's problems when you can't deal with your own?!"

I'm moving to Tennessee in 14 short days. I'll be there the entire summer. I have my fingers crossed that this will be good for me. That maybe, even though I'm lonely,the best thing could be for me to get away. I'm not running away from my problems, but rather, I'm trying to alieve them. That maybe time away will let me heal from whatever put me down. Get over things, and be able to forgive myself and others. Not to mention, Ohio is just depressing on its own.

I make a wish every night before I go to sleep. I used to wish for something specific. And it would never come true. But still I wish. Only my wish is much more general.

I just want to be happy.