I just want you to be okay, that's all.

Eleven days. Eleven days. Eleven days. I don't want to go back. I'm scared. I'm not scared, I'm terrified. I don't want to go back. What am I doing with my life? Absolutely nothing. I'm okay with that. I'm okay with taking it slow. But I'm not at a point in my life where they'll let me. "Get a job, get a degree, move out, be an adult." I'm only eighteen. I'm scared. At least I had my license. At least I work. I'm so scared. I went for a semester and lost everything. Everything. Every damn thing I ever cared about. And when it all came crashing down around me, I reached out for her help and she ground her heel into my hand and threw me off the edge. I took a long break. I thought I was getting better. I thought I was going to be okay. I thought I was ready to go back. I earned back the friends who matter most to me. I don't know what I would do without them. And I know it was a joke, I know he didn't mean it, but to tell me "well it's your fault" like she did. . . How could you do that to me? When I already struggle to put my faith in others. . . Is it really my fault? Is it my fault that I'm so damn scared of drawing again? That the mere act of picking up a pencil causes me to force my breaths to be even? Is it my fault that I tried to be brave and draw again, after all this time, and dare feel scared that I'm a failure? I spent ten years preparing myself to be a paid artist, and I slipped and fell in the deep end right when it mattered most. I know it was a joke. I know you didn't mean it. But do you know the anxiety I feel righ now because of that simple comment? If it were any other subject, I wouldn't act like this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want to be like this but it's not my fault. Please don't step on me like she did. She meant the world to me. Even now, almost a year later, I still feel the crushing power of her words. Please don't do this to me. I'm scared enough. I need your support. Not your ignorance.