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Author walks into the room, closing the door and taking a seat across from you. She’s wearing her favorite cardigan, and there are crescents under her eyes. The tea she has is bitter, the way she likes it.

Hey, everyone, and welcome back to the blog: it’s been a little bit.

Needless to say, the past week or so has been gut-wrenching. Between trying to extinguish the flames of my life catching fire, classes, overnights at work, and basic human duties, my life has seemingly slipped out from under me.

What on earth do you do when you’re drowning? What do you say to Death when it comes in waves, lapping at the sand until it’s eroded and gone? How do you find strength in the things you thought you knew about?

I’m twenty. I’ve been mistaken for ages fourteen to twenty-seven. I look like a guy if my short hair is tucked too far under a hat. I’m twenty, and I feel as though I have been acting like I’ve been thirty-five all my life. I dislike partying, wasting my time, engaging in pointless conversations, and being told “because I told you so,” because that means the sum total of nothing. What I do enjoy is fresh banana bread, talking to everyone in a grocery store, the sound of sirens bouncing off of buildings and reverberating back into my bones, reading, researching, creating.

And I have done none of those as of lately. I’ve barely touched a pencil.

Lately, I have felt like a failure. I have studied to the best of my brain’s apparently poor ability to retain things, and perhaps called my friends too little. This week, I hid myself in the library, and found out my birth control prescription would be arriving a month late.

My mom texted me that my grandmother was going to pass soon and that I should visit.

So I did.

I’ve never been shot, but I’d imagine this is what it feels like. I’ve never felt so useless either. I might be an EMT, but it became exponentially clear to me how insignificant my skills were in this setting. Yeah, my stethoscope and trauma shears look cool, but they can’t fix a dying brain and failing heart. They can’t and –

“Hi, Bea.”

It was 3 a.m., and she knew who I was. She knew who I was even if I was barely around. Even if I was in uniform. Even if she knew that I was too afraid to come on my own accord – if it weren’t for my parents saying something.

“H���.”

I ended up leaving in tears, and the facade I held in front of the nurses was torn into salty shreds. I know this blog isn’t one of the typical ones, but I did not want to give some silly reason as to why I was not writing as much. I love writing, and I love my readers just the same. Receiving all the lovely messages I do are sometimes the only things that get me through the rest of the day.

I understand that some of you have already clicked out of this or have gotten bored of my dreariness, but I am appreciative of the fact that my words were able to reach all of you even if we haven’t met. For those who stayed, thank you.

For those who are going through loss, please know you are always free to reach out to me at bglav1@unh.newhaven.edu to talk, and that CAPS is always here to support you as well. Remind yourself of the little things that you love in life and keep those things close to your heart. To this day, I wear my heart on my sleeve, even though I have all the reasons not to. Take care of yourselves and realize that sometimes “real life” can wait a second.

Even diamonds are under pressure. Don’t forget that.

I hope everyone is having a lovely week, and that autumn touches you softly with its fingertips. Get the hot drinks and enjoy the cool breezes. Remember who you are and where you came from. Go and be great.

And to the frat boy I talked to, please clean your sink. It’s a biohazard.

All my love to you all ☺️ I appreciate your patience!
With peace, love, and PB,
Beatrice