It's been 3 months. Should that mean something?

Almost all of my reflections seem to start with, "Since coming back from Cambodia...", and I suppose that's fine but even I get a little irritated with myself. As if I can't get over the fact that I've been back for 3 months already. And then I remember. I remember the weight of everything and it all makes sense. I understand a lot of it but I don't like it. I don't like how I feel on most days and I don't like who I am and who I can't be right now.

I was never the type of person to lay awake at night crying over anything. Crying and being devastated. I had never dreamed in another language, replaying experiences or imagining new ones of a place I'm no longer in. Until now. It is as if I have been haunted this entire summer, these 3 months that have come and gone so quickly and brutally.

This is the trauma I carry. This is the trauma I can't shake. The last time I felt this way was when I had to live next door to the boy who took his love back. And I had to see him everyday. So I took myself to counseling so that I could work through the discomfort, anxiety and anger of that situation.

One reason why I haven't written my papers is this increasing feeling of insecurity that seems to consume my spirit, my ego. (I feel too insecure to write because I don't think it will be any good. I'm still too heartbroken to be strong enough to write. And that problem in itself is completely self-loathing.) I miss the writer within. The ability to express through words, beautifully written, and when read aloud flows like something harmonious. When my mind races with brilliance that I can't even type fast enough. But I'm not there yet. I'm still trying to work through, "I don't want to be here".

So this week, I return to counseling. I'm going to set up sessions at the university counseling center, talk to a stranger, anticipate the heaviness of our conversations. This is how I'm going to get better. This is so I can be that writer again, be brilliant again... so I can finally finish school. Because at some point, time is going to keep beating me, and I will run out of marathons to watch or money to buy clothes and makeup to mask how vulnerable I feel inside.