After a year in honours, I dropped out right at the end of the race, because I couldn't take the heat. I just couldn't bear another day trying to motivate myself and then staring blankly at the screen because the words came out in little squiggles and indecipherable ciphers. My medication made me drowsy, irritable, and trembly at various times. On top of it all, there was the usual turmoil that accompanied the BF like a tempest. And then I was told bluntly that I couldn't "cut it" by my supervisor.

So. There. I quit. Now I feel like a failure. No, wait, I am a failure. And unlike some people I never had the inner resources to cope with failure. Is this what they call a nervous breakdown? I don't know. And now, I am ostensibly a Zoloft junkie. In truth, the little unopened blue, white and mauve boxes are stacked neatly on my desk. Because I just wish to feel sorry for myself for a bit. I'm self-destructive that way.