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JournalJournalJournal.
How are you, journal?

I'm fine, thank you for asking. Just gathering some pixel dust in a corner. And yourself? How have you been?

Oh, that's wonderful news, but I'm ever so sorry for the neglect. Oh, me? I've been doing quite wonderfully. It's schizophrenia time, I take it?

Yes, indeed. And I'm glad to hear that.

ENOUGH OF THAT.
Behold! My first journal entry. So pop open the champagne! Send it around. Fill up your glasses and take a nice swig. Indulge yourself.
I never write in these things.
But believe me, when I do... I WILL ramble. On and on and on about nothing of importance mostly for my own pleasure. Why? I have nothing better to do.
On the contrary, I have tons of things to do, just nothing I'd enjoy more than rambling. That's one of the causes for my stress lately. Having too much to do and having hardly enough time.

School is drowning me right now. I'm flailing around in the current while I see others sailing by in their high class ships looking unflawed. I, of course, was the smartass punkass kid in the beginning of the year signing up for the challenging classes.
"Would you like a life vest?" the teachers asked constantly, fearing my wellbeing.
"No need," I rivaled, my cocky self passing on the help.
And where does that leave me? Struggling at the surface? Where did that overconfident eye rolling student go?
Hands pierce the surface, sending ripples over my head. Their dancing fingers grasp for my own but I foolishly pull back. If I accept help now what does that make me? Ah! But to withhold on my own. That is my goal. Impenetrable, unstoppable, strong, able to survive. No, it makes me stubborn. Not everything comes easily and at times a helping hand can change the entire outcome of a situation. But I refuse to listen to my own logic.
Yes, I realize others have sunken deeper, but I'm not used to the pressure at all sides, the light fading from above, seeing the others casually passing over as I had once done. Where had my life boat docked gathering dust by air and barnacles on its rotting wooden hull? My safety net of reassurance always lying just below whenever I needed it? I chose to dismiss it. It was my doing, I can blame no one for it was no fault other than my own. I had glided easily through the harbor and assumed that was the easiest of the sea's mighty challenges. But here I sink into the cold depths of the deep sea, unprepared.

My best wishes extend to my fellow students. You'll pull through.
w/ love,

Alex