I feel like such an idiot. What's wrong with me? Going to be 19 in a few days and I'm still so… not together!

This is like déjà vu in a very real sense. I'm skipping a whole day of class, wasting time on the internet, and just not behaving sanely.

They say that one hour of University class is like a missing a week of High school classes. I think I realized that much to my dismay last semester, so you would think I would not repeat that mistake this semester. But it seems even in my eagerness to learn grow and develop as a person, I learn NOTHING!

This time around I can't even say this University Program is not for me because I am here purely and utterly on my own choice. Admittedly two-thirds of my course load is still biology and chemistry, but I'm still ditching the politics course aren't I? This shows that I'm not out to learn and that I really just enjoy being a nice lazy ass.

It's quite fun actually, with no one over my shoulder, no one threatening to beat the crap out of me I seem to have come unhinged in the brain and the body.

I like to think I'm getting better. I like to think I'm improving for my own sake… but who am I kidding?

I failed my second semester in my first year as a Chemistry major out of sheer will power. I spent time on an internet website until three in the morning when I was supposed to be writing lab reports. I lied and told my friends I had submitted my papers when in reality I had not written more than two lines. Nobody actually cared that I was not doing work. That is the brilliance of being a university student. I do as I please and my trusting parents and trusting friends give me the benefit of doubt every single time. Of the five courses I took I failed four out of five, while receiving a D- grade in the fifth course. That is how obsessed I was with this internet site.

I want to become a politician. I want to go to law school. I want to make a difference for humankind. The problems as they stand are unshakable. For Starters there is my parent's cultural non-acceptance of woman and politics, which, at first glance, stomps out any dreams of becoming a politician. Most people would say, who gives a damn? You live your life! not your parents. To those people I say, 'I do live my life and I choose to keep my parents a happy and respectable part of that life.' I rather go around the unseen and unknowable barriers my parents place in front of me, rather than take those barriers head on. It is just a part of who I am.

Last September I started as a Chemistry major at Rampings University. I met awesome people and I was pumped for a fresh start. After making it out of High School with a 65% average I was thrilled to have been accepted anywhere, let alone a bachelors of Science program. First semester was awesome. I managed a 3.0 GPA. The grade was perhaps something of a miracle at hand for me. Second Semester, as I mentioned earlier, was a disaster of its own continent.

I was put on Restricted Academic Probation and made to see a University Counselor. They assumed I had fallen into a clinical depression and saw fit to deal with it as such.

I don't think my parents would have ever known my prognosis, if it wasn't for a slip of my tounge. I shared a far too vivid graphic memory with the counselor, prompting her to call child services.

A man and a woman dash across a narrow Hallway. The floor is carpeted in maroon and the walls are a dull white. The woman moves to the centre of the kitchen as the man looks on wearily.

"What is it that you want from me then?" My mother called as sways in the centre of our Kitchen. The brown tiles gleaming beneath her feet she moves closer to the sink.

I sneak to my bedroom door as I hear the quarrelling, trying to be as quiet as possible, so I don't disturb my younger brother and sister as they slumber on. I'm not sure what time it is, but I lean heavily against my left swollen foot. I had sprained it earlier that day. My eyes wide with terror, I cant really recall what happened next. The quarrelling becomes indistinct and fuzzy.

I find myself in my father's arm, shaking out of fear, poignantly staring at the drop of blood oozing from my mother's neck. She had taken a knife to her throat and given herself a shallow cut, after asking my father, "What is it that you want from me? Do you want my head on a silver platter, because I'll happily give it!"

In another blur of emotion and confusion, I find myself seated on my bed. I think my younger brother is simply pretending to be asleep as both my parents lovingly tend to my swollen foot, wrapping it tightly in one of my mum's long rectangular shawl.

This one revelation resulted in the counselor alerting Child services that perhaps my younger brother and sister were in physical danger. Forfeit the fact that this memory was at least seven years old, when my sister was around 3 and my brother 8. I knew my parents were no danger to my siblings, because my parents had always even been a danger to me and a danger to themselves.

Luckily, this is not my sob story. This is going to be my happy story. I'm going to pull it together and I'm going to do well this semester. I'm going find my feet. I'm going to happily and successfully transfer to a Politics major. I'm going to dump my long-distance guy friend and I'm going to be OK, no matter the past.