No feelings. Just facts.

Wounds are easy to be reopened, even if a lot of time has passed. And they hurt, as much as they did when they were first inflicted.

I am unsure. Of everything. My major. My job. My friends. My life. Myself.

My medication has changed. I am not feeling better at all. I have heard it can take up to a month to see the changes, and I have only been on the medication for 2 weeks. On the previous one, that is. I started taking a new one yesterday.

I am going to Peru. Against all odds, I actually am excited. I wonder how my baby sister looks, maybe she is taller than me now. My dad has promised to start my treatment as soon as I get there. In 4 short months I will be pretty again. That is exciting.

Running away from the hot summer in Provo is also a plus. It will be winter in Peru when I get there. I need to buy my plane ticket. Soon.

Thursday is probably my favorite day of the week. If not for Friday. I know. Pathetic.

My English teacher says he likes my writing style. He says I have a fresh voice and that I can communicate and give a view of a different aspect of human relationships. I am pretty sure that was his way of saying I am an interesting person - meaning I am weird. This is the introduction of my personal essay I turned in yesterday.

Help, now there is an ugly word. There is nothing that can offend me more than the word help. I hate – note the word choice – asking for help. I don’t mind helping others; in fact, I enjoy helping someone in need, but I feel it is a sign of weakness – and this is just related to me – when I see myself in need of asking for help. Ayuda. It even sounds bad in Spanish.

Help, whenever someone asks me if I need it, I feel the need to slap him or her on the head with a big, nice frying pan – and I do, in my mind. Once the slapping is over – in my mind, that is – I say “no” politely and nobody’s feelings are hurt. Sometimes, I prefer to fail on my own than to succeed while using someone’s help as a crutch. And, by the way, I hate teamwork. That is why I want to be a computer programmer. My computer and I will be together forever. Alone. No people. No hands messing with my code, until it is finished and working. Any success or failure, that can be claimed to be entirely my own makes me who I am.

Yeah. He definitely thinks I am weird.