Mentally I realize I’m beginning to decay, the grip I had on reality however brief is slipping through my fingers. I can’t deny the monthly relapses anymore, I can’t deny that they’re steadily getting worse and closer together. I feel to guilty crying out for help, when I know it’ll come again soon enough. I don’t relish another stint in an institution or forced therapy. Though I’m getting close to the ledge, there is enough space I can still turn and run from it. I can still prevent it, if I make the hard decisions now. It might even be nice, an adventure of sorts. I’m greatly looking forward to the summer, sunshine, warm, evening thunder storms, and a brief escape from monotonously empty school assignments. It’ll give me a chance to release and work out all these ideas that have been swirling in my brain for far to long. I’m really excited to work on my own stuff awhile, or create complete nonsense if I so choose. I’m excited to grow and expand. I’m taking a single summer class, Macro Economics. That I don’t particularly relish, but at least it’ll be with Art Beth. We went and took Polaroid’s of ourselves smoking in an abandon barn, if it hadn’t been so damn cold it would’ve been ecstasy. I’ve fallen in love with the Polaroid. Though I’m excited for the summer, I worry to. School will be closed for periods at a time, and as my new found refuge, this will not do. I’m worried what I’ll do, home is no where. I long for a road trip with deeply personal friends. I miss how close I used to feel to some people, but I’m afraid to reach out. I feel like I’ve made to many mistakes to be a worth while person to them. I used to have standards, morals even, I don’t know what happened to me. I feel like I’m treated differently now since events. Not that I couldn’t sympathize with their reasoning. I feel so different then I used to. I feel damaged, yet enlightened. The student art show is tomorrow and I have painting, it’ll be nice and peaceful.