I am stuck at the library.

I dragged my brother with me to the library to do my research because I felt too unfocused at home, but now I still feel like I can't get anything done. I am just a failure. I suck. I did a few Google searches, and I'm calling that my research. It was enough because my spiel is mostly about the literature itself, not the people who wrote it. I figure basic biographical information and some historical background is all I need, so there is no need to use GALILEO. Don't worry, boyfriend. I checked my sources for credibility. I am als o really fucking stupid because I forgot to bring a fucking notebook with me. How am I supposed to write anything? Stupid. Also, the other reason I came to the library is to get the book I need for my psychology class, and it turns out that the book does not exist in the library system here. I'll either need to go to another county (GOOGLE!!!) or read it online. I found it online, so I guess I'll do that, and the rest of what I'll do is bullshit the paper I have to write. I am the master of bullshit. Meister von Sheiße. whatever. So this fucking library won't let my brother check a book out for me because you have to show your ID to check out a book. That is nonsense. Nonsense. 

I'm stuck here at the library because there is a fucking maelstrom of wind and rain outside, and I'm not interested in driving in it. I don't want to kill my brother. I mean--if I were alone, I'd go. Ugh. Stupid library. 

I really want a subscription to National Geographic. I'm such a nerd. I want those maps! MAPS! I have this map obsession now. 

Forsooth.

I swear I'm not listening to Fall Out Boy. 

So—my mother consistently says she believes my therapist is useless. I tried to tell her that my therapist does quite a lot more for me than the psychiatrist, since all the doctor does is dole out medication and potentially harmful side-effects. My therapist tries to help me think about my problems, take responsibility for the things of which I am able, and be honest with myself. And she's done a good job. I'm better at understanding that I have a certain level of say-so in how I feel today or tomorrow or how I felt yesterday, and I have a say-so in how I deal with it, even if I have to fight with my head a little. I also understand that I cannot hide behind anxiety, which is a really easy thing to do. It's incredibly easy to run away from things when you have mental illness on your side, or in your head. "I can't deal with that because it makes me anxious." The more I say that, the more anxious I get, and the fewer things I am able to do. I still have to acknowledge the anxiety, but I should not hide behind it. That's not a happy existence at all. Anyway--she helps me with that stuff. That's more important than handing me some Xanax and telling me to do with it whatever I want (which is basically what the doctor does, very strange, these psychiatrists). 

I have definitely seen an increase in headaches since I started the new medication, but I have also seen an increase in pollen and stress and allergies going nuts. That's another thing my therapist helps me sort. Is this psychosomatic? Is this a real side-effect? Am I paranoid? I appraise things now. It's much safer that way. 

Today my mother took me shopping with her, and then she didn't buy anything for herself even though I totally kept trying to drag her to things she'd want to buy. I was done shopping for myself within fifteen minutes and tried things on and sorted through them and only bought five things. My mother proceeded to shop for my sister for about two hours. And she bought herself a pair of socks. Then we came home, and she complained that she didn't get anything for herself. She does that a lot. I think she needs it. Anyway, I got two pairs of super cute shorts and three shirts. Two of the shirts are t-shirts like the one in my post below with my beautiful nail polish. I absolutely love that particular t-shirt, so I bought a white one and a periwinkle one. I was going to get a turquoise-y one, but I decided to just leave it at three of the same shirt. I can go crazy buying the same shirt in millions of colors because I'm weird like that. This particular shirt happens to fit me really well and stuff, though. So hmph. And it's really soft. It's not cheaply made. I love it. And it gave me more purple in my closet. And who doesn't need a white t-shirt? I love it. Anyway, the last shirt I got is a really pretty, royal blue. I have been trying to add a larger variety of colors to my wardrobe lately. All I seem to have is lots of gray, black, and yellow. The two pairs of shorts I got are gray though. One has stripes with cute, white buttons on it, and the other pair is like..idk. They're cute, and they looked cute on me. They're a size 1. I haven't worn a size 1 since I was 13. Forsooth. That was fun to type. 

I love Savage Garden. And I am not ashamed. My iTunes just blessed me with TWO Savage Garden songs in a row on shuffle. Thank you, iTunes. I wonder why no one discusses them anymore. They're totally pop awesomeness. Seriously. 

I am very upset with this Seche Vite topcoat. I had it on my nails for three days, and the shit chipped. Actually, it peeled. I have this problem when I wash my hair of strands of hair sliding beneath my nail polish and peeling it off. I suppose the polish was too thick. At least, that's what I'm telling myself because I spend a lot of time and money making my nails look pretty (and trust me, it's my least favorite thing to do in terms of maintenance). Only one nail chipped. I will fix it, and I will leave the color on my nails. I'm not interested in redoing all of them right now, not with all these headaches. 

I am also really upset that I cannot find the fucking dry shampoo that I want at my Sally's. Why does my Sally's not have it? WHY?! Hmph. I am going to have to find one and buy it because it seems stupid to order it online when I'm sure there is another store nearby, or close enough that it's worth the trip. 

I want bath stuff. I have this urge to take a bubble bath, but I want a very specific sort of bubble bath. Someone buy me bubbles! I generally hate baths, except salt baths. I love salt baths. I should take a salt bath. My skin would be so happy. 

Everyone should take salt baths. 

I have become the bum friend who says "I'll totally send the fork in two weeks..." and then doesn't send the fork. I MUST SEND THAT FORK. I seem to have lost it again. As soon as the semester is over  (one class period! and then a week of finals! eep!), I am cleaning this fucking room. I need summer projects, and this room is a fucking mess. Today I found an old bra that a cat had peed on. I have no idea when this happened, but I have officially banned those beasts from my bedroom. Not only do they make me sick, but apparently they've been doing some unauthorized micturition, and that is unacceptable. Unacceptable. 

So---everything is going to be cleaned, and I'm going to vacuum, and I am going to clean my carpet. I used to do those things weekly, but then I got --sicker and anxious-er and busier (shocking) and just lost my drive. My room used to be pristine. I miss those days. They shall soon return with a vengeance. And while I'm at it, I need to repaint one of my walls. I'm not sure if I still have the paint though. I'll have to ask my dad. Or maybe I can paint it a different color. Pink? Oooh turquoise! That would be pretty, considering that was the original color scheme. And that matches my bed set, if I ever decide to use it. I also need something else on my window. I hate blinds of any sort. I really need super thick drapes that keep out the hot and cold temperatures and the evil light, since I hate all of those things, and I can move them in the mornings (or whenever) when I do my makeup, since that's the only reason I need a window. 

One thing I have always really liked about this fucking house that I hate is that the yard is fantastic and never gets hot. It gets a bit swampy-feeling and mosquito-y, but mosquitoes don't like me, so that's not an issue. It's always really cool in my yard, so it's not too bad to go outside and sit in the summer time because there are so many trees keeping the air nice and cool and oxidized. <-- That's not really the right word to use, but it was fun. Oxygenated. Oxygenated is the correct word, but oxidized is so much more fun. I miss chemistry! And I still want the giant poster of the periodic table of elements to put on my wall. I have to rearrange the furniture in here, too. The bed needs to be on the other side of the room. The chi in here is not good. Yes, I just said CHI. I sound like a bi-polar right now. Awesome. 

I guess I'll go to sleep now. Again. I have been sleeping way too much lately. Way too much.

I just realized that tomorrow I have to run to the library and get that book I need to read for my psychology class because the report is due on Monday. Fuck my weekend. I have too much to do, but I shall focus, and I will get it done (because it's really not that much). I have to do a bit of research on a couple of writers, some historical background, and I have to e-mail my partner, type out the annotated bibliography, plan my speech --sort of, and read that book and write about it. DONE. Two days. Well, two and a half days for the English stuff. I will get it done. 

I really want Vanilla and Mutiny pigments from MAC. Mutiny is limited edition and currently being re-promoted. I need it. I need it. I need it. It's so gorgeous. 

Compulsions, forgetting, shopping, and how it all affects my mood.

If we're all aware that I've got a moderate-severe case of OCD, then we know that I sometimes act compulsively, give in to compulsions, or feel compelled to do strange things. And obsess. It's really fun. 

So I have this compulsion, occasionally, to buy things. If you've read the blog, the whole thing, you should notice that I have, in the past, said that I just "need to have new things" sometimes, at random times. I'm almost like that person with the house full of weird objects that are covered in dust, almost. Because of this compulsion I have boxes and boxes of shoes I don't wear, really cute dresses that I never wear, books that I don't have time to read, movies I won't bother watching, glitter palettes that I will never use, ten different mascaras, tons of different moisturizing products, four different shampoos, five leave-in conditioners, and who knows how many makeup brushes. 

The worst part is that I hate things. I hate having Things. I hate being surrounded by Things. All of these Things cause me a lot of stress.  Things, things, things. Things. Things drive me crazy, yet my first crazy compels me to want and buy and fill my space with Things. Fuck my life.

I forget to take my meds a lot. This happens. When this happens, I feel like shit, and I don't want to do anything but wallow in my pain and whatever else I'm feeling as a result of not remembering to take my meds. This means I miss important classes. I miss important things. Then, after I've missed these important things I decide to check if I took my meds, and look---I didn't. I did not take my fucking meds. So this whole fucking myself over hardcore thing could have been avoided if I'd just taken the fucking pills. Seriously---that's just stupid. 

Yesterday love dove and I visited his parents who happen to live close to outlets, and that means CCO, and that means I had to go shopping. I practiced very serious restraint and only bought two things, but it was very difficult. I bought MAC MSF natural in medium (which is not my color) and an eyeshadow I didn't need because I'm sure I already  have that color, but oh well--it was discounted! Again with the compulsions. Then I started feeling very ill and unwell, as I always feel when I visit his parents' new home. I blame the drive. 

And this morning I ordered a nail polish. It's green and cute. After that, an octopus pendant arrived. Then a few more nail polishes arrived. And I still don't have pink nail polish. How odd. 

And all this while I wasn't at school learning and getting my money's worth (or, rather, my parents' money's worth) because I forgot to take my medicine. 

This all makes me want to hurt myself. It damages my self-esteem, and most importantly, it damages my GPA. If I could cry, that's what I'd be doing. If I could panic, that's what I'd be doing. But I can't. And I shouldn't anyway. I fucked up. I am a little fucked, maybe. Life is about more than a GPA. This will not ruin my life. This will not kill me. It is OK. 

Right? 

Maybe. 

P.S. my boyfriend is an amazing human being and should be canonized in all four possible ways.