I have no idea why I'm doing this to myself...

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.

3AM and I'm drowning slowly.....

So, as usual I am unable to sleep. 10mg of ambien later and, yes, I am still unable to sleep. I don't understand what happened. That stuff used to be magical for me. I'd take one pill and I'd be asleep within minutes and I'd wake up refreshed and ready to go. Now I take it and all I get is a little dizzy and unsteady on my feet.

Right now I'm in the house upstate. There are no cats here. There is no dog. There is no husband. It's just me... in a house in the country all alone. I think this is the most alone I've been in a very long time. I was expecting it to be serene and tranquil. It's more boring and vacuous. I keep remembering what I read in a Baha'i book about how idle fancies and trifle activities don't create fulfillment or purpose and that they lead to boredom and pointlessness and emptiness. I try to fill my life with a lot of things... knitting... quilting... and most recently oil painting. I suppose those are things that fill time under the guise of being productive.

I'm sure all this lack of purpose will melt away when I start working next week. I'm excited about the job, don't get me wrong. It will be nice to have some structure and something to do with my time again. I mean, oodles of free time sounds great but, honestly? After a few months you really start freaking out and it isn't healthy.

I know I can create a few different blogs and separate them... like make one for my personal rants and raves... another one for my art... another one for my knitting... another one for my quilting... another one for when the moon's full and there's a rabbit on my deck... but, well, all these things are me so I don't really see the point in draw and quartering myself.

I will try to update this thing often. My therapist said that journaling/keeping a diary would help me to get my feelings out. Funny though, when I did journal and keep a diary regularly it never felt like that. I always felt like I was making some sort of personal keepsake.... like something that I'd read later in life and go "wow I'm in so much better shape now than I was then..." or other such things.

Now it's 3:15 and I still don't feel tired. I always did hate sleeping alone and Chris isn't here and neither are any of the cats. I think that was the weirdest part about coming up here.... there was no small flock of cats to greet me at the door when I got here. It's cemented one thought into my head very clearly. I will never be able to live my life without at least one pet in the house.