Lately, it seems that my days have consisted of persistent musings as to how my life has become charmed yet unbearable, an unquenchable thirst for memory-erasing liquids and other self-destructive ills, and an apparently unbreakable habit of sleeping in lonely strangers’ beds. This all being punctuated by the maddening vibrations of twelve text messages per day from an obsessive former boyfriend, soul-deadening fog, and a constant ringing in my ears that I am convinced will cease only when I leave this city and all of its wicked memories behind.

And it appears that all of this self-destruction and frolicking about, has once again exacted its revenge on my already ravaged body. Earlier this week, I fainted at school. I awoke to find several terrified classmates holding me up in my chair, a sea of unfamiliar eyes staring at me in concern, and a professor frantically calling 911. Thinking I had fallen asleep during the middle of the lecture, I was mortified. It turns out I had passed out onto my desk, then attempted to stand up, stumbled a few steps until caught by a classmate, and was promptly helped back into my chair where I awoke a few minutes later. I have no recollection of any of this, save the struggle of erecting my head from the awkward angle it had fallen to and the great effort it took to open my eyes. More alarming is that this has happened before.

Though my life is no longer consumed by constant ambulance rides and blood transfusions, it is unsettling events like these that remind me that I am no longer the person who could run marathons and swim fifty laps without anxiety. I am deeply frustrated by this most recent event, and not simply because I have been too weak to walk more than five steps without feeling faint since it happened. I, like so many others, love to think of myself as indestructible and highly-functioning despite apathetic eating habits, even more apathetic sleeping habits, and a general disregard for my well-being. All of this, combined with an already compromised immune system, culminates in me sitting in the hospital rather than in class.

So what to do? Stumble on. Make some promises to look after myself…because god knows there isn’t anyone else to, once you’ve become as skilled a bridge-burner as I.

It’s been such a hard season, and the bridges we burned might be all we had to keep us from drowning.

For my sake, I hope this isn’t true. I seem to burn bridges by the day, and drowning just doesn’t seem like much fun.