You know, it’s funny-I never thought I’d get tired of talking about myself.

To those who read this, thank you. I truly appreciate it, whether you come to value what I say or you come to mock it. I swear my new found boredom isn’t personal–I’m just tired of focusing on whatever problems I may have.

I said it–I’m tired of being afraid of everything.

I’m not about to say that this is a major breakthrough in my life. It could very easily be because I’m so exhausted that I’d even be moderately okay with someone following me around all day and saying what an obscenely horrible person I am–over and over again. The five or six hours of sleep each night lately probably doesn’t help, either.

Throughout this semester, I’ve been afraid of missing opportunities. I’ve been afraid of taking said opportunities and, as a result, making me run on fumes that don’t exist and having school suffer. I’ve been afraid of being given some of these opportunities with people having way too much faith in me, and I’ve been afraid of the facing constant scrutiny of the people that I’m in constant contact with–-whether they’re friends, family, colleages or roommates.

I’ve been afraid of my future in journalism, my education, my risks and my life. I have way too many health issues to name as a result of this “stress,” both mentally and physically. I still even have a hard time believing that stress exists–it still sounds like whining to me. I’ve been afraid of whining. The only time I feel any sort of solace from this constant uncomfortable feeling is when I’m dog-tired, absolutely exhausted. That’s usually coupled with being extraordinarily busy, which has resulted in incredible lapses of judgment.

Perspective: Yesterday, I fell asleep on a classroom floor while waiting for my musician boyfriend to finish practicing. I thought about getting work done and I fully intended on doing it, but I just didn’t care. All I wanted to do was sleep. Before long, I was out like a light and used his winter coat as a sleeping bag.

That’s absolutely pathetic. And yeah, I know–who’s fault was that?

But honestly, I could continue to complain about how I’m afraid of almost everything in my life–good or bad, tangible or not. But what good would that do? What good does any complaining do at all when, clearly, there is always something that can be done about it? Even when it’s out of your control, you could always just accept it and shut up.

It’s been real, guys. I may or may not come back to this blog from time to time just for myself. For now, though, I don’t feel right about constantly bitching about how horrible my life is for having opportunities essentially dropped into my lap and me getting overly anxious about it.

I’ll deal with the anxiety. The coursework will get done. Grades aren’t everything. Most of all, accept yourself and your imperfections.