I can hold my own hand...

I can't believe I somehow ended up back in school. And I keep pretending like this is normal, as it all comes crashing down on me - how hard this will actually be. I feel like it would be easier to die than to write the first word on an empty screen. And everyone keeps saying how I'll be fine, how I should stop worrying. How I supposedly always do well. And deep down I hated hearing that. I hated them for being so blindly confident in me. Every. Single. Time. Because just once, I wanted someone to acknowledge how hard it all really was. The crying and the dying and the headaches and the heartaches. To say it out loud so that I could hear it. Just once. And then I'd just get on with it. But I'd know that they knew that it wasn't fine at all and that it probably never would be. But we'd just get on with it. Like we always do.