And oh, the run-on sentences.

Errg. Everything is not okay. Work and the dog are doing well, but that's about it. I suppose that's a lot, though it doesn't feel like much, considering.

I feel like I've wasted another year and that I haven't learned anything - that I've let everything fall apart again, despite all of the great supports that are in place.

I didn't feel that my work on a paper was worth handing in, and I had difficulties even putting those thoughts in print, as I was so certain that I hadn't prepared myself properly or given myself enough time. For those reasons, I didn't hand in the final exam/paper and didn't feel that it was fair to ask for any more time. I felt awful about my work and myself, and as I'm unable to separate myself from my illness, I felt that there wasn't much to say..

I screwed up. I am a screw up. The semantic differences in those statements is lost on me, and that doesn't seem, to me, to be an adequate reason to give me more time or (yet) another chance.

As I survey the wreckage, it just seems like I should either learn to clean up after myself or stop making messes. I'm exhausted at the thought, but I know everyone else is too, and they're going about their days and handing in work, so I should be too.

I stupidly scheduled a therapy appointment and then picked up a work shift on the same day. I spent the day in the fresh air, which was lovely, save for worrying about the papers I haven't handed in because I think everything I write is awful, despite ample proof to the contrary, and the sleep that eludes me because of the worry and the joint dislocations and the concern that I won't do well anywhere if I can't behave like a normal human being for more than six months at a time or without expensive pharmaceuticals.

And oh, the run-on sentences.

So, that is how I am doing. And not doing.

I hope that all of you are doing infinitely better.