I feel sick.

Omg I want to throw upppppp.

I just realized that when you "withdraw" from a course, you get no money back...

I've withdrawn from like... 5.

And accidentally failed one (didn't realize that the deadline was the 6th, not the 31st...) and failed the biopsych one.

Mom says that any course that isn't completed, I have to pay for myself...

Which means that I have to pay for like... SEVEN COURSES.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY THAT IS.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY I HAVE? ZERO. NONE. NADDA. I'M IN THE HOLE. BIG. A BIG, BIG HOLE.

Omg I feel sick.

I feel like I've completely ruined my entire life.

I want to get outtttttt....

- Mint.

Could I intrest you in living?

"I'M FRUSTRATED ABOUT LIFE
AND DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY WE AREN'T ASKED WHETHER OR NOT WE WANT TO PARTICIPATE BEFORE EMBARKING ON THIS HELL HOLE OF AN ADVENTURE"

A text I just sent to a friend.

Yes, I'm confused about life still. Yes it's time for another rant.

When I wrote the text above I stopped to think after about how one would ask another if they wanted to become living or not.

"How would you like to constantly learn, and experience things that are so real, emotions will bubble out of you?"

"How would you like to live on earth, forever?"

"How would you like to meet your soulmate?"

"How would you like to feel as happy as a clam and as free as a bird?"

"How would you like to breathe, just watching time pass by?"

I feel like depending on who's asking, the questions could be highly biased. And also, I feel like a lot of disclosures should be added:

*WARNING: many bubbling emotions are filled with self-hatred, frustration, bitterness, and hopelessness. Learning and experiencing may or may not make bubbling worse.

*WARNING: your particular soul may or may not feel like forever is WAY too long and will look for alternative ways to escape.

*WARNING: you may or may not know that said soulmate is your soulmate and you may or may not end up with them.

*WARNING: life is not always fun, free, or happy.

*WARNING: air may be toxic and time does not actually exist, HAVE FUN FUCKER.

I feel like if life was described to me how other people view life, I'd actually say yes. But, I'd like someone to describe my potential life to me instead, then I'd make a much better decision and have a much better, more positive outlook on life.

But I guess that's the point of life, not knowing. Who knows what's just around the corner? Who knows what tomorrow will bring? No one, and apparently that "unknown" is a thriller to some people. And others just accept it because they have to I suppose. BUT I HATE IT.

I WANT TO KNOW, I WANT TO KNOW, I WANT TO KNOW.

I want to know what path to take. I don't want to waste time. I don't want to make the wrong decision. I WANT TO DO WHAT I WAS BORN TO DO.

WHAT WAS I BORN TO DOOOOOO?

Right now, I've thrown out all my options. This always happens though. I cycle through my options quite frequently and always end up rejecting them all.

Death would be so much better. Just nothing but quiet forever. Eternal sleep, it'd be lovely.

You're supposed to live for the unknown, but right now, there is no future possibility that could make me want to stick around.

- Mint.

Here's another for the road.

Sorry, 4th post of the day.

I just went back to see where my head was at on this day last year, and the year before.

Suicide; interesting theme I've got going on here.

I suddenly really need to go home again.

Hi,

Sorry for the third post of the day, but I really just need to write things out.

It's okay to have thoughts in your head, but writing them seems to settle the soul, you know? As if putting them into print helps send the thoughts off; either out into space, or to the next step of its development.

So, I can't remember whether or not I've mentioned this but the children's literature class I'm currently enrolled in? I've never attended. And I tried so harddddd so attend it and everything! I'd go to campus early to make absolutely sure I wouldn't arrive late; I'd pump myself up with music and words of encouragement beforehand; I'd go to campus with a list of things to do before class so that the whole "class part" wouldn't seem like such a big deal, it'd just blend in; and I've even gone to school drunk to rid my anxieties.

Did any of those options work? Obviously not.

Quite frequently I'd make it to the campus parking lot, park, and then immediately turn the car back on and drive back home.

My mom asked me why this was and this is the best way to explain it:

When I'm on campus it's literally like I'm transported back to first year; and I'm not kidding. I feel like I'm a ghost. Caught in a limbo where I'm hovering between the past and present. I'm there, but not really. Because I'm not. I'm in the past, I'm in first year all over again. And it seems that wherever I go on campus, my old res building looms overhead like a death sentence.

It's an eery feeling because, like I said, I literally feel like I'm in limbo. I don't know if I'm crazy or what, but yeah, I feel it. And my memories while being on campus this year are quiet. Oddly still. Although my memories from first year are just as still and quiet, they are a lot darker. But that is because I really was a ghost back then; do any of you remember?

But the important thing to note here is that, I physically can't be on campus. It harbours much too much of something that drags me down (part of the reason I'm dropping out) and they're changing the campus too much. This creates even more anxiety. I feel like a tortured ghost who's spirit is trapped inside a house and all I can do for eternity is sit and watch people constantly touching and changing what doesn't belong to them. And I feel angry about it! 

 "This isn't right." 

 "This isn't right!"

 "THIS ISN'T RIGHT!" 

 The campus now has speed bumps, the table I used to spend all my time at in first year is now a two seater desk, the professors all have different offices, the library has a completely different layout, same with both of the campus cafeterias, the candy counter is completely different and doesn't even sell the chocolate bar I used to live off of, there's a mini cafeteria in the engineering building, and the fine arts building is now called the critical creative studies building.

And then I'm there, stuck in limbo, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one can even hear me, because I'm not even there. No one sees it the way I see it, no one feels it the way I feel it. 

Cold, trapped, quiet, with an engulfing anger of hopelessness and frustration. 

That's why I can't be on that campus. It devours me whole, and it's really scary...

I just wanted to write that out. Thanks.

- Mint.

First successful purge.

I've decided that food coming out looks much better than food come up.

I'm exhausted from thinking.

Shit.

It's caught up with me again.

I went home, saw mom, talked to her about dropping out to pursue a more creative career path, she was okay with it as long as I fight for what I want, and now... I'm scared.

I feel like I've taken this huge running start towards a cliff, and then just before jumping, I dig my heels into the earth; now I'm just teetering.

Should I actually drop out? What will I actually do with my life? Will I be satisfied?

I told my mom that my main destination is to be a creative director, but if a different opportunity comes up, or my interest is sparked elsewhere, I'll follow that path. I told her that my goal is just to move forward in life.

But is this a good decision?

WHAT DOES A CREATIVE DIRECTOR EVEN DO. HOW DO YOU BECOME ONE. DO I HAVE WHAT IT TAKES. WILL IT KEEP ME INTERESTED, AND PASSIONATE?

So then my head automatically weighs in the other options, same old record, same old tune:

• Chef: I'm a vegetarian. It's hot in the kitchen. Only fun when you're not in a dead-end restaurant job. FAT. FAT. FAT.
• Baker: Repetitive. Only fun when in a classy bakery without creepy old bakers. Takes a lot of muscle. Hard to stay in business. FAT. FAT. FAT.
• Cake decorator: Repetitive. Fad. Creepy old bakers. I'm slow as fuck. FAT. FAT. FAT.
• Writer: LUUUUUUL. I'd have to have ideas of things to write.
• Photographer: I'm not one anymore.
•  
•  
•  

And I worry a lot about my brain. Like, I'm a smart girl, and I'm worried that if I don't exercise my mind properly, I'll lose it. I'm already sooo bad at math now, and I'm worried that if I go into a non-accademic career, my mind will get bored and will eventually want to return to academics.

BUT EVEN THOUGH PSYCH IS SO INTERESTING, I'M WORRIED THAT THE ACTUAL JOB WILL BORE ME. It's repetitive! Especially if I specialize.

Like, someone will come in with a problem and I try to help them. But you can only ever get better if you want to get better. So I'm really just a guide. Also, the problems will eventually begin to overlap and like, IDK. I want a career where I'm doing something all the time. I don't want to just sit the entire day, counting down every hour, minute, second...

That's why I thought the fashion industry and more specifically, being a creative director would be meant for me. Everything's new, you're always going, always creating.

But now I'm worried. A creative director doesn't actually create things with their own two hands. They come up with the ideas and oversee everyone to make their vision come true. BUT I WANT TO BE MAKING SHIT. LIKE I WANT TO MAKE SOMETHING AND BE LIKE, YEEEE BITCHES, THAT'S MY DOING, LOOK HOW AMAZING I AM.

Fuck... my head wants to go back into cake decorating now. Or baking. Or cooking. Or becoming a pastry chef.

SHITTTTTTT. WHY IS MY HEAD SO INDECISIVE.

WHY IS MY HEAD SO PASSIONATE. WHY IS MY HEART SO FAST.

Ugh. I need some major help.

- Mint.

Home is wherever I'm with youuuuu~.

I get to go home on Saturday nightttttt

And today's already Thursdaaaaaaaaay

And I get to go out tonighttttttt!

And I'm losing weightttttttt!

And I even got to eat trail mixxxxxx!

WAH WAH WAHHHHHH

When I go home I'm going to talk to my mom about dropping out.

I really just want to work. Try to get into visual at work (so choosing what the mannequins wear, deciding which clothes go where, etccccccc. I think it'd count as design experience lol), maybe get a second job as a cake decorator if I can't get full-time hours at work.

I DON'T KNOW. I just really want to create, and work, and make money.

All I know is that, right now, I realllllllly don't want to do school work. And like, yeah. I just want to work work!

I have today off (because I have class that I never go to) and I want to go to work sooooo badddddd.

I have nothing else to say really lol I'm excited to see my dog soon, I want to drop out of school, and I'm losing weight while eating pizza. WHO WOULDA THOUGHT.

I'm almost at my old starting weight again! HOLLAAAA

- Mint.

I'm really angry and really tired and hate absolutely everything and everyone.

I went to subway yesterday and it was horrible.
So I went again to make it "right".

What does that even mean? "Right". Why did I have to make it right? It was such a serious thing too. Like, the same guys were working and I explained why I was there again, and of the fact that my sub had to be right this time. And that it was really reallllly important to me.

And while I was ordering it, "that footlong please" "is that bread soft?" "no, cheese on the top" "more green peppers" "like, two more banana peppers" "a little bit of onion, no like, a little" "lots of mayo... one more line" "this cookie", I was so frustrated at myself.

Like, I didn't even want subway. But I had to recreate what was supposed to be yesterday. And it had to be right.

BUT FUCK, even writing this right now is frustrating, BECAUSE IT'S SO GOD DAMN STUPID AND POINTLESS. Embarrassing, and picky, and controlling, and unnecessary.

And the sub wasn't even right... they squished the bread when they wrapped it up...

I'm realizing that when you're on your own too much, and have too much control of your world, you don't notice when you're too particular with things. But when you do, omg.

With work it's so bad too. When customers mess up the clothes, or a co-worker doesn't detail things correctly.

The scarves bother me the most. Followed by when the tanks are messed up, and then when the hangers aren't straight because someone just shoved the hanger back in the mess of clothes.

Or when the hanger is flipped so it's hooked on the opposite side. Or a zipper is unzipped, or a button unbuttoned.

Living with OCD would be sooo frustrating.

Speaking of work though, I took this bitch's shift on Friday (my day off) because she said she had a funeral to attend, but then she called in sick today, and I also learnt today that she has a really bad habit of this. SO. THIS BITCH, GOT THE WHOLE THANKSGIVING WEEKEND OFF, AND I DIDN'T?

So pissed.

But let's make it worse, shall we? Next weekend I work: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I was supposed to have those days off so I could go home. This is fucking bulllllllllshit.

I was fuming when I found that out. FUCKING. FUMING. And I still am! The more I think about it, the angrier I get. I think I'll just go home after work tomorrow, come back next week. Let them deal with covering my shifts. If it's a problem, then I just won't fucking come back.

I need to just go, get away. I DON'T WANT TO BE STILLLLLLL. I don't even want to go home really. I just want to drive for forever.

Or sleep for forever.

My soul is so tired.

Life is fucking stupid and too long. And fucking lonely.

I was supposed to go to Thanksgiving dinner at Morgan's house tonight, but her family invited too many people I guess so I didn't get to go.

My problem is that I believe everyone when they say things. Whole-heartedly too, so when things don't work out, it hits hard.

And school is dumb. I don't even remember the last time I did any school work. I hateeeeeee it. I hate everything!

Fuck, I'm going to bed. I'm pissed.

It's one right now and I don't want to go to sleep but I have to because I have to wake up to clean and pack and drop off a library book and go to work and, fuck.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Life. I don't recommend it.

Fucking hell.

- Mint.

I am a dreamer of dangerous dreams.

First thing's first:

1. I tried to quit my job and my boss wouldn't let me so I guess I still work there.
2. I tried to quit the sorority but the president made me realize that that's silly really, so I didn't.

SECOND.

OMG

OH, OOOOOOMG. I've come up with a dangerous, dannnnnnnngerous idea.

A dream really. Like I always do, but it's dangerous because it may or may not easily work out.

First of all (doesn't this post already have a first?), I believe things happen for a reason. I really do. So things are more obvious than others but yes, everything happens for a reason. Right now I'm referring to how easy I got the job at D. I never get jobs! EVER. That's why I had to work in the fucking deli for so long, because jobs aren't meant for me.

BUT THIS, THE JOB I HAVE, RIGHT NOW, WAS MEANT TO BE. I found my new, Kelowna best friend, Morgan, and just watch what happens next:

1. She's a smoker- omg I needed a smoking buddy!
2. She's from Kelowna- omg I needed someone who knows this town!
3. She loves going out- omg I needed someone to go out with!
4. SHE LOOKS LIKE A MODEL AND WANTS TO GET INTO THE INDUSTRY TO BE A STYLIST OR SOMETHING SIMILAR- omg I needed someone to go shopping with, and I missed being into fashion (I used to be really into it in grade 10, but a small town isn't the best place to keep up with trends)
5. now watch this: She wants to move to Vancouver is go to school for fashion studies- omg I want to move to Vancouver!
6. She's probably going to stay in Kelowna one more year though to continue saving but she doesn't want to stay at home- omg I need a roomie for next year!

AND THIS IS WHERE MY DREAMER BRAIN KICKS IN.

LAST NIGHT, WHEN I WAS READING ELLE, IT HIT ME: HER AND I SHOULD START A FASHION BLOG, IT WOULD BUILD HER RESUME AND HELP WITH WHAT I'M THINKING IN THE BACK OF MY MIND.

Wait what?

Grade 12: when I originally was wondering what to do, I decided I wanted to become editor in chief of a fashion magazine because I worked out almost everyday to The Devil Wears Prada and it's seriously one of my favourite movies of all time. When I took the test to see what careers to consider, my top ones were always, art director, photographer, writer/journalist, butcher. I don't get the butcher one, BUT THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW ANYWAY, OMG FOCUS WILL YA?

I've always been attracted to culture, and art. And what I'm realizing right now, is that I hate being still. And I hate reading and reading and reading in school. And I hate not creating things. If I continue on my way with psychology, I'll be still. Listening to problems, lending advice; seeing people stand up, seeing them fall down.

IF, I do something else perhaps.... I won't be still. And I'll get to create. IT'LL BE FUN.

Writing is too isolating and too depressing. Same with photography and any other sort of other freelance art like that. Other art forms are too showy for my anxiety really. Baking tends to attract people who aren't cultured and is also a repetitive job after awhile. But fashion, there is hope.

I've already got my foot in the door by working at D, and also by starting a fashion blog with Morgan, and even just knowing Morgan, since that's where she's going (fashion), and her boyfriend hopes to get into filming movies, and his sister is an incredibly famous model.

But then, what would I do? I suck at styling for people, I don't have design ideas, marketing would be boring, photography would be boring eventually (I like nature shots not people shots)...

My favourite thing fashion related is "the magazine". The entire world of the magazine. But writing would be boring. Hoping to become editor in chief would be too big of a dream. An assistant is not a goal. Marketing again is blah. Editing is blah.

BUT WAIT, Nigel, from The Devil Wears Prada. I fucking loved him. And there's this one scene right before Andy gets her makeover, and he's in a room where it looks like they're planning the pages. I loved that scene, because the room and the feel of what was going on in there and everything about it. And Nigel just in general... his job always seemed the most interesting!

What was his job? MOTHER FUCKING ART DIRECTOR. THAT'S WHAT HE WAS.

THIS IS MY IDEA, SERIOUSLY, IT'S IMPLANTED NOW. HERE, LET'S READ IT TOGETHER:

1. Finish BA here, and focus on working at D, living with Morgan, working on the blog, learning about fashion, and drawing more to build a portfolio to be able to apply to a design school (see 2)
2. Move to Vancouver, transfer to a D there, continue blog, do a 2 year max graphic design degree to learn about programs, layouts, and art
3. Move to Montréal or Toronto or SOMEWHERE to try to get a job as an art director or something that will lead to becoming one.

Does this sound crazily stupid? I think it does. But like... risk. and adventure...

IDK. IDK. I'll think about it, and see what happens.

AHHH

- Mint

Falling Fast.

Anxiety has gotten the better of me.

I can't do anything anymore without freaking the fuck out.

Haven't gone to my only class on campus yet.

Can't work unless I have a little doodle pad to scribble on to distract myself from the present.

Can't look people in the eye.

Tapping out of the sorority thing.

Can't talk.

Can't go outside.

UGHHH. I fucking hate it. I hate anxiety. I hate the fucking word anxiety. It spills out of my mouth representing everything it is. Reading it sends shivers down my spine, and my heart takes a leap.

I'm getting my little mini panic attacks again.

I can never fucking sleep.

I can never fucking wake up.

Just waiting for my hair to fall out again I suppose, and for that cold piece of metal to bring out some warmth from within.

I'm just waiting now, because I know it's coming. Over the horizon, it's a comin'.

I can't go home for Thanksgiving because, work.
I can't go home for reading break because, work.
I can't go home for Christmas because of fucking work.

But I need a god damn job. Because I need money. Because I need gas so I can drive around at night. Because I need more clothes because I'm collapsing with myself, yet somehow looking bigger and bigger each day. Because I need smokes to breathe now it seems.

Every time I get in the car, a smoke pops into my mouth.

I need it. I need it because of the stress, the anxiety.

Alcohol? No, no good. I just drink and drink thinking, "I need more! I'm not drunk enough! More, more, more, moreeee!"

Until I'm passed out in the fucking parking lot at three in the morning and some randoms fucking save me.

I'm naive and stupid, and not afraid of death. That's the problem.

On another note, I'm still losing weight. Slowlyyyyy. I'm too lazy to cook, and only have time for coffee and smokes really. On an average day now I'll just have dinner. Which is good in my eyes.

Blah, I don't want to be here. But at the same time, I don't actually want to be anywhere. I wish for sleep, and it doesn't even come.

- Mint.