For me, journal three is not an easy task. You see, I usually wrote about the things I comprehend or the thoughts that I found interesting. However, I comprehended nothing for the past few weeks, I barely did anything. My mind is blank, I cannot think, create, or do anything. Depression washed over me once again. I did not know why I collapsed, not exactly. 

        I got confrustrated ( confused+ frustrated) since everything seemed to be going in the right direction. I handed in my homework on time, I went to classes, and I even managed to perform on stage; I found my pack of friends (thanks to composition class) which I cherished, I received care and love from my beloved professors, what could go wrong?

         Nothing went wrong. Nothing, but me. I felt like what I had been trying so hard to pick up dropped back to the ground, like everything I cared about started speeding up, leaving me behind, like I stepped in the middle of quicksand, like falling right back to the rock bottom when I already climbed high enough to see rays of sunshine.  Such a pathetic little creature, am I not?

         Now don't judge me. Don't judge me just yet. For I used to loathe this kind of self-pity. If you look into me a little deeper, perhaps you can still see her in a dark, rusty corner. Her mouth was taped, and her limbs were chained, locked behind a thousand doors______the person whom I used to be. She was daring, enthusiastic, and filled with passion and love for life.  I did not lock her up because I hated her. On the contrary, I was hoping to at least protect her. She was burnt out, quite literally. You see, I can no longer produce the energy and courage as fuel, and hence there is nothing left to burn, but herself. I wrapped her up, put her into a little box, and told her to wait until I got the strength to give her what she needed again.

      She did NOT like the idea. As far as I can remenber, every time emotions such as satisfaction or a hint of happiness appeared, she tried to jailbreak. I can only tie her up, lock her down. What else can I do, to prevent her from plunging into her death? However, I soon discovered that without her, there was a huge hole in my personality. Without her passion, I can no longer comfortably talk to strangers; without her muchness, I barely have the strength to cope with my responsibilities. The remains of me had to have an emergency meeting to build a temporary, make-do personality to survive. AKA the version of me you see in my freshman and sophomore years. 

        In the beginning, that make-do personality does not blend well with the rest of me, just like pidgins might not work well at first.  As time goes by, however, they start to cooperate better, creating new things, and fitting in the details. Just like how Pidgins turns into Creole. My personality is no longer a make-do, but starting to move forward to be who I want to become. 

       I did not choose to do this by my own will, nor have I made the best decisions. But throughout the session, I did learn something about myself, and it helped me heal the wounds that I didn't even know were there before.