I have been avoiding my diary for two reasons. 1) My mouse got something sticky in it and kept sticking. 2) I'm feeling weird lately about even accepting my feelings, let alone writing them down. But here I am. I know that college is not right for me. I don't fit in here. I'm not an intellectual. I'm not looking forward to a career in any field that this college can prepare me for. I want to work in television. Not in front of the camera but behind it. Like a writer or vault librarian or director. Something creative. Once again my home is being ripped out from under me. Everything I have been believing for months is a lie. I thought that I might be able to think of someplace as permanent. I was wrong. It's frustrating because I know better than to count on people. I know better than to count on fate to provide me with what I need. I just know better. I'm starting at the beginning. It's like I haven't learned anything in the past seven or so years. I know not to blow things out of proportion. I know better than to let my anxiety rule my life. I know better than to care if I'm accepted or loved. I know I shouldn't procrastinate in order to get out of things. I shouldn't lie. I feel like a drug addict who just started back. I love it, it's thrilling to feel your heart beat out of your chest and for your mind to be spinning out of control. But at the same time, I can't live like that. I spent the better part of my adolesence trying to get away from it. Now here I am, almost 20, starting it again. I'm a fool if I think that I'll ever defeat it. This nagging, pulling, throbbing disease at the pit of my stomach will never let me live a normal day. Never.