Last night I dreamed. I dreamed that I had gone to visit a friend at the Cornell vet school. I dreamed that I had impressed the professors so much that they spoke to the admissions board. And the admissions board let me take the spot of a student who had failed the previous year. I dreamed I sat in classes. I dreamed I was learning about anatomy and histology...
It was all a dream. And this dream scared me because it's the first one of its kind.
I keep trying to live with it. This colossal disappointment in my life. I've tried to move on. I've tried to keep going. The more and more I try, the worse it gets. It's like I'm slowly going insane. It's like a small shard of glass under your skin that you can't see but you know it's there. And every time you brush your hand across something you feel the shard slip deeper into your skin jabbing you with an annoying pain.
I've been telling myself over and over again. Get over it, Kelly. It's over. The fat lady's sung. it's over. Gone. Done. It's time to deal with the fact that it's done and move on with your life. Get going. C'mon. Have some kids. Raise them. Grow old and die like the rest of the world. Move. The Fuck. ON. DAMMIT!
I keep trying. I really do. I keep reaching towards acceptance and all I seem to be doing is falling backwards into despair and anger. I hear her. I hear myself in the back of my mind screaming over and over and over again.
"YOU JUST GAVE UP YOUR DREAMS!! ARE YOU INSANE? HOW ARE YOU GOING TO LIVE WITH YOURSELF NOW?!"
This is usually followed by a giant stream of:
"IT'S NO FAIR!! IT'S NOT FAIR!! IT'S NOT FAAAAAAIR!! NONONONO! IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN LIKE THIS! IT'S NOT! YOU WORK AND YOU HOPE AND YOU PRAY! YOU GIVE UP 7 YEARS OF YOUR LIFE TO ONE THING! IT'S NOT FAIR!! NONONONO!!! IT'S NOT FAAAAAAAAAIR!"
And these cries have lost none of the vehemence. They've lost none of their venom in the year and a half that I've been screaming them in the back of my brain.
The tears are still just as bitter. The self-loating and self-pity and self-disgust I feel just seems to be getting worse. I pop drug after drug trying to sleep. I pop drug after drug trying to stave off depression and panic attacks.
I'm still in the same situation I was in back in June when I was laying on my couch unable to move and thinking that all I wanted to do was die. I'm just more functional right now.
Because I sit around and look at my life... and I hate it. I hate my life. I hate where it is. I hate where it's going. And that's exactly the spot I was in when I decided to go to veterinary school. I'm back where I started. I just wasted a quarter of my life. For nothing. To put me back where I was.
I keep praying to Allah. I keep asking him to send me some sort of message... some sort of sign... something that the decision that I've made is right. Should I accept my current situation as the will of God? Is this what my life is supposed to be now? Is this His great plan for me? I don't know. Or am I ignoring my path because I don't want the trouble that goes it it. I want Allah to guide me. I want answers.
I'm so sick of all of this.
I'm sick of being angry all the time.
I'm sick of thinking about death all the time.
I'm sick of being so bitter.
I'm sick of walking around on autopilot.
I'm sick of faking excitement about babies and pool chemicals.
And most of all... I'm sick of seeing all the amazing picture of my cornell friends in their vet school classes having the time of their lives.
Every time I see one I think to myself... "that should be me..."
Every time I see a status update about how bad they've got it or how horrible things are now with vet school in some way or another... I always comment... "I'd give both my arms to be there... don't take it for granted."
I'm afraid I can't go on like this. I'm afraid that losing this isn't going to be something I can get over. I'm afraid this isn't something that I can just move through the natural grief process and come out fine on the other end feeling dandy. I'm afraid that I'm going to end up feeling like this for the rest of my life and I keep wondering if that's worse that the alternative.
Am I going to be haunted by this regret for the rest of my life? When I'm 45 am I still not going to be able to sleep because I don't want to go dreaming about what might have been? How long can this fester inside me before it starts to destroy me?
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.
In my haste and insanity, I ordered pamphlets from Ross University and St. George. It was a stupid move.
I'm half pondering calling in sick tomorrow to work. I need to think this over... big time.