JOURNAL: Talking to Myself

When I was in Eighth grade, our English class had a student teacher, Ms. Warner, who assigned everyone an essay to write about the most important person in their life. When it was time to turn them in, she asked a few people who they wrote about. One person wrote about his mother, another about her father, and when she came around to me, I told her that I wrote about myself. The look that I got from her was so full of judgement, as if there was indeed a wrong answer, and I just said it. But seriously, there isn't anyone else who's going to take care of me and be there when I need it.

I think the guilt from that, and the idea of dependence on others in society has contributed to the fact that most of my nervous breakdowns coincide with times when I feel like I don't have a personal outlet as far as being able to talk something out with another human being... to have that connection and feedback that everything will be okay. Right now, I'm at a loss for that feeling, and will probably have to change locations to find it. The thought is getting stronger for it.