I decided to make the next dosage cut: 20 mg to 15 mg. I would have preferred a brief hiatus at 17.5 mg, but measuring out seven-eighths of a pinky nail-sized pill would be, frankly, a pain in the ass.
Can someone please tell me how students are supposed to find time to get two years of professional experience in their field while attending college full-time and likely holding down at least one part-time job?
As soon as reports of my fellow classmates securing jobs began to roll in, I discovered something else about adult life. Nothing I did in college mattered—not my major, not my degree, and pretty much nothing I even learned (especially since I went to a liberal arts school).
If you snoop hard enough, you can likely determine all sorts of details about the person -- and their culture -- based upon what they toss in the trash.
Everyone fails to mention that while you may have pulled your fair share of all-nighters studying for finals and gotten really good grades, everyone else is doing the same thing.
I've been known to leave gatherings without saying goodbye -- certainly during panic attacks, of course, but even at other times when I'm feeling perfectly fine. To me, it's an anticipatory social anxiety thing.
Alcohol makes me nauseous. Nausea makes me panicky. Am I simply making a logical choice, or am I making an emotional one?