Best 15 quotes of Samantha Schutz on MyQuotes

A few months ago, leaving for college seemed glamourous, but now it’s hard to believe that this little dorm room, with its scratchy sheets and a lock that sticks, is home. It’s hard to accept that this is my new life, that these are my new friends. I am one in many here. There are dozens here as good as me, even more who are smarter, funnier. And it scares me because before I stuck out and now I blend in.

Everyone pushes and is angry at the people who push them.

I am grown in so many ways, but in front of my parents I am still a child. I am having a hard time throwing off the skin that I pick and peel. I am the only one who can do it, but I can’t seem to let myself.

I cry and wonder how I'm going to fall asleep because sleeping means waking and going through all this again

I don't like this idea It is too much focus on something I am trying to forget I am afraid that this attention to detail will only fuel my anxiety

I don't think that I am happy, but then again, I don't know. Sometimes I get so caught up in the process of living-- of eating, dressing, taking the train to work, that I don't give it enough thought. Maybe happiness is being content. But is it really?

I finally feel far enough away from it to gain perspective on everything that’s happened to me and everything I’ve done.

I hang out inseparably with someone for a few days. We devour each other, tell all our stories, and then move on. Things here are not stable.

I'm trying to decide what's worse. Someone being gone, but still out there, or someone being gone forever, dead. I think someone being gone, but still out there, might be worse. Then there’s always the chance, the hoping, the wondering if things might change. If maybe one day he’ll come back. There’s also the wondering about what his new life is like. The life without you. Is he happier? And if he is, you’re left being sad, wondering what it would be like if you were happy with him. But when someone is dead, he’s dead. He’s not coming back. There is no second chance. Death is a period at the end of a sentence. Someone gone, but still out there, is an ellipsis…or a question to be answered.

Is this what all the years of schooling were for? To prepare me for this Sense of being stuck in the middle? What was the point? No one said I was going to be this sad. No one said I would still be crying.

I visit him a few times downtown while he paints. We talk about how he's going to Spain for the fall semester and he shows me a painting he did and points to this one part, a bridge, and tells me he thought of me when he painted it. It is so sad how knowing something so small can make me so happy.

I wish I had water. I wish I had something to read.

I wonder if I am too close to even see what is written on them. This close, everything is just a blurry mess.

I wonder what my life would be like if I’d had anxiety disorder. At first, I think shit, I’d be Miss America. I’d be the happiest person with the brightest smile on the face of the earth. But the more I think about it, the more scary life without panic seems. My life has been governed by anxiety for the last five years. It fills up my time. The practice of doing nothing — of staring at walls and letting my mind go — is torture. I don’t know how to live like that. I only know how to live like this — with this feeling in my stomach. But this is no way to live — fearing everything, being scared to be me, to be happy, to feel pain.

Meeting new people feels like dating. I try to find someone I like, casually start a conversation, and hope we have things in common.