I'm making myself a promise: no more fucking emo. I'm not going to be my own worst enemy anymore. I'm not going to tear myself down, wallow in my own misery, bitch and moan and annoy the fuck out of the people I care about, etc.

I'm going to be fucking positive, because I've got a lot to be positive about. I'm a student at an Ivy League university, I'm about to land an awesome internship, I've got incredible friends, and I'm pretty damn hot to boot. I'm a fucking star, yo.

I'm staying up tonight; I'm just too damned pumped to sleep. I can't stop thinking about everything I'm going to do once I get back to Barnard, about everything I'm going to do after Barnard, etc. I'm also pretty psyched about getting that dress tomorrow, lol.

I feel like...like I'm better, at last. I've made it through a whole semester without a single catastrophe. It looks like I might just be on the right track.

It feels really wierd, knowing that I've lost two years of my life to this. It pains me to think that I've lost just about every friend I had, that I'm so, so fucking isolated.

Lost is a bit harsh, though. I didn't lose school, my family, my puppy; I didn't lose my wits, and I sure as hell didn't lose my stubbornness.

I'm not sure if I've come out intact; I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be the same. Maybe it's for the best.

I'm pretty angry about losing those two years, but bitching about it won't bring them back. All I can do is try and pick up where I left off.