I started high school with grand intentions of grand friends and grand grades and boys would only be a street-side fruit stand to glance at while I cruised on by.

Intentions never quite work the way you plan.

My first class of the day, a boy with striking blue eyes, an awkward gaunt, and floppy hair sat down next to me and started talking about Pokemon. He had seen my Pokeball pin on my backpack and had singled me out as the person to vilify him the least. I was uncomfortable and unsure, horrified by his brashness. The seat had been meant for my best friend, Cathy.

But the second his mouth opened the teen awkwardness faded from his face and he become bright exuberance. Stunned and flustered, I stared as he passionately smiled and seemed to revel in our one-sided conversation.

This happened for weeks and I eventually became comfortable enough to talk back. His smile widened as he seemed pleased to find another person who was willing to be a little weird. I didn't know nearly as much as him, but I learned because I loved to watch him beam.

Right before the homecoming dance, he asked me out with a poster that said, "I choose you! Do you want to choose me too?" I blushed and said yes, and we coordinated red for our first dance as high school freshmen.

At the dance, though, my blue eyed beamer was someone anew. He was dorky and the way he danced was flamboyant but terrifying. He often ditched me for his marching band friends, and I felt more humiliated and uncomfortable around him than the bright admiration I had felt before.

When he took me home that night, he tried to kiss me and at the last second I ducked away and gave him a hug before running inside. Those lips weren't nearly as enticing anymore when they weren't beaming at me.

The next week in class, he sat next to a different person. A guy from his science class, I heard from my friends. I shrugged and went on doodling on my notebook. At least I learned now what a Gardevoir was.

There we were, back to square one. Guess it takes more than a semi-mutual interest and a beautiful smile to maintain a relationship. And there I was, back to grand intentions and great expectations, but this time I knew things won't ever go quite exactly as you plan.

He ended up dating Cathy later, and he and I are close friends now. He's actually pretty fun when he bothers pays attention.

But this was the end of our love story.

13 years old, the back of a haunted hay-ride pick-up truck, wearing a bright yellow bee costume. He grabbed my hand like it was going to break, but my heart was whirring like a jackhammer because he had nice eyes and played guitar.

We talked shyly all day, and I remember each passing glance as we both tried to pretend we weren't looking at the other.

Evidently we pretended a little too much, because it was Katie he ended up kissing in the pumpkin patch that night. Not me.

That was the end of our love story.

Always torn between two ideals, its the crazy person way of life. Is there a way to ever rid of the issue or is coping all I have?

The fact that since my fingers can't stop typing I know I will only allow myself 30 mins of intense late night creativity and then make myself shower because showering helps me calms my twitches only shows how deep into this rabbit hole I've gone.

Average idealist me would like to think one day I could really be normal.

Crazy idealist me/pessimist me would say I would not be me and hate myself without the disorder and I will never get rid of this thing on my back.

But hell, honestly, I don't even know if this is about the **** disorder in my head right now. It might be about how long I've spent on this godforsaken planet and felt like I've impacted barely anything. I want to do things, I want to get out there and make some difference that eventually makes me feel like I am doing something worthwhile. Not just spending too much time in my day just so I can convince myself to go to sleep.

I've always hated the concept of sleep; its so much waste. We only have, if we're lucky, 100 years on this planet and we are spending at least 8 hours of each 24 hours in a day on ******* nothing? Its such a **** waste. One of the few things I truly do miss about the ******* crazy, I barely needed sleep. But now that I'm medicated and sort of relatively sane, I need the 8 hours like every dumb recharging bloke. God, I hate sleep.

I guess the less I'm around people the more I feel like I need to work my *** off to do something to impact and help and connect with others. This summer has become more and more solitary and I know, I understand nothing can always be Grace's happy fun sunshine friendship land. But for ****'s sake no wonder I was batshit when I was younger. I had even less of an impact on anything.

I need to find something.  I need to find something that connect me to people, even if indirectly. I cannot spend anymore ******* time feeling like its never enough, only to drive my *** back hard towards the crazy ledge I teeter on. I'm going to ******* burn out if I only keep on pushing. I love working towards being an author, its my biggest dream that I cannot wait to make true, but....

I might have to take a break from it to keep myself steady enough to get there. I might need to find another all consuming creative outlet to keep me from feeling like a **** idiot stuck in a box just twiddling her thumbs away. I love writing, but without people around who inspire me and make me smile its hard to keep on going when I can't get the feeling I'm bettering something. I know I am, but with every word my beloved novel feels more stale. I can't let myself hate the novel I believe could actually do some good, especially if its only cause the crazy can't take care of itself.

**** me for having to take out my biggest passion to cope with my own stupid **** head. But for a summer that gets me ahead in literally every other aspect of my life?

The love of my life just might have to take the hit.

There's never quite an end to the core of an apple, is there? You bite and you bite but you always finding yourself taking smaller and smaller bites the closer you get to the center. You know its 'cause you don't have the power or stomach to eat it all away, but you pretend its 'cause it takes time.

There's one step, two step, trip, and fall. One day you get a high and the next you hit a wall.

Getting to the seed of things isn't quite getting me nowhere, or somewhere, but someplace, the someplace I dream of, its up and its everything I want but I can't really see anymore. Darkness always makes finding the walk home a little harder.

And there's that; home. That thing I found and jumped in full-bodied and now I lay curled on the floor as it took itself three steps away. Its door is open and the welcome mat is brushed off just for me, but those three long steps are hard when your world is gone.

Its not even just the house itself. Hell yes I love it and its my someplace in a heartbeat, but Its like all the comfort and routine and dreams I had went with it and alone a girl with frazzled blonde hair and clutzy freckles is just a shaky three legged chair with a termite problem.

When you don't believe in "just deal with it" not knowing what to do can feel like ****** needle ready to give you a fix on the one day you might say yes. My eyes want to see the other doors open but all I see are padded walls and only the smallest of windows on the ceiling. It seems to be growing bigger.

I want my three legged chair to get its **** together; its all I've ever wanted. But when left isn't an option and your feet and bound and your eyes are blind what do you do?

Though I'm a ***** who ***** up funfetti cake but never will ask for a tip, my pride isn't even the matter. The matter is even if I ask I don't know if anyone can help me know what to do.

I just want every moment of these three steps to feel like an adventure; not like a punishment. But I just don't know how.

Really, I just want to get to that someplace. My someplace.

But I can't stand wallowing until I get there. I can't stand hating every moment. Its not who I am. Its not the kind of person I want to be.

I just want an open door, but every one I find here seems to be pretty closed.

I want to refuse bleakness, hopelessness, giving up. I want to be strong and dream and get everything I can out of every second. But I don't know right now if I can do anything better than settling and just dealing with that.

I don't think I could acheive all my dreams if it weren't for you, The one I never expected. I would have feebly fought for them, pined for them, but I don't think I could have gotten myself to a place where I could get them on my fingertips.

I'm going to be an author. I finished a novel, I pushed past my wandering imagination and uncertainty because you made it easier to feel my bones. To do the things that are like breathing for me.

I have a lot of worry in my heart, I always have. I worry about not being good enough or going crazy or about your safety or about the future. I don't know if I've gone madder, but on the precipice of loneliness I am not terrified. I am only wishing us both the best.

I won't see you for four months. Alone that fact makes me miss you already. But I'm not scared about it. You want to build a life with me, and you of all people don't take statements like that lightly. You may be far away but you aren't leaving.

This is a time for both of us to get ready to be the people we want to be. You get to start getting your dreams together. I'm sure as hell going to do the same thing. I cannot wait to show you with my eager little smile how far I'll come in those months. I hope I floor you. I hope you'll love me more than ever. I'm sure I'll feel that way about you.

I don't think I'll ever be that girl who feels releived or settled about being married to the well-off, wicked smart guy. If anything your intelligence makes me feel I need to keep on pushing. I want to be just as rafiant and brilliant by your side, not seem like the lucky trophy wife with the ****.

This summer will grow us. I hate to have us grow so much apart, but its how it is and we, ever adaptable and strong, will manage. I'm sure skype will be our ally.

But only with you, and I hope you feel similar with me, that we can be this grand together and have the sort of life that we could only dream of. We can have a life that neither of us never realized could be so insane and wonderful all at once without the other. I don't think I've ever been a better version of myself than I have with you. I'm stronger and I'm responsible and I'm willing to do stupid, crazy things to work towards all my hopes and dreams come true. I'm still so crazy but it doesn't matter to you. God, I ******* love you.

I cannot wait for the grand together life we will have. Only a few whiles until we get there. One summer, then some time together. Then my final semester as you get things ready in our new world and then...

Well then hopefully that grand together never needs to be forced apart again.

I was doing so well.

That's probably what makes this hurt so much. I had been pushing and pushing and exceeding everyone's expectations and doing great and...

I pushed a little too hard.

I forgot what it felt like to be burned out. Not exactly depression, though some self-loathing is swimming around in my head. No suicidal thoughts or endless tears. Just being so exhausted. Just being pushed a little too hard.

I don't even know what to write and that probably hurts the most. I love writing. I always have a thousand stories, more, dancing in my cranium and pounding inside my skull to get out. I am even thinking of some right now. But i just find it do hard to do it.

Why is that? Why do people sometimes struggle with the simple act of doing something?

I wish I had some prophetic response, but I don't. Not today. I'm lucky I've been able to get out of bed and attempt to write, let alone function normally.

I can write a bit better. My fingers can t least move and attempt to throw something out. Its just hard. That happens when you get burned out. You just need to lay for awhile and let your body do its fixing magic, even if it drives you a little mad.

The synapses can't exactly find their way back together if I keep on making them run in different directions.

I've been eroding myself. I didn't know, I couldn't feel it, but now I do. Its just this aching in my head as if it hurts to even think. I hope my brain has gotten pretty good at healing, because I'm willing to give it a couple more hours before I go stir crazy. I'll try not to erode it, but the less impatient and stressed I am the better chance I have.

I just want to be able to do everything. Why does that have to be so hard?

You see that phrase above? I always hated it. I hated it with every fiber of my being. But I could never deny that was the exact kind of living I always did.

Always convinced, even conditioned, to think people would leave. To think no one would be able to feel anything but temporary love for me. That I'd always be alone, that I'd always feel unworthy, that I'd always feel afraid.

Its weird to not be afraid.

I lived so many years of my life in fear. I had everyone leave me on and off for 18 years. I couldn't possibly fathom anyone would ever stay. Why would they? I was just broken, crazy Grace. Why would anyone really want me.

Here I am today though, not afraid.

I don't feel sane. I thought I'd need that to get here. But controlled crazy isn't so bad. I actually think I prefer it. My fingers can dance across a keyboard but also still and be human. I feel ok to be crazy when I also don't feel like its eating me away. Being eaten's always the worst part. Its much nicer to sit and have a cup of tea with it.

So yes, life isn't perfect. That's another fallacy I convinced myself of; if I stopped the crazy my life would be perfect. My head was a little funny like that. Of course things aren't perfect; family stuff is a bit messy and I have flashback moments of bad childhood feelings and I haven't been able to write much. But I'm doing well in class. I finished a novel. I have people who love me and I love them. I have the best boyfriend who I always love to see. Of course things aren't perfect. But they feel like life now instead of a painful sinkhole.

I need to read more. I need to write more. I need to publish my novel and I need to graduate. But I'm on my way and I m so happy to be somewhere. I'm not where I thought I'd be when I controlled the crazy. But there is no such thing as controlling the crazy.

Best you can do is sit right down and have a nice chat and know together that's really the best.