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Today I feel as if tomorrow I will fail. When I wash my face, I'm starting to become aware of the bumps on my face. It drives me crazy. I want to pick at them but I know fighting the urge wil reward me far more than the crying, scarring, and hopelessness that comes from picking. I think I'm so afraid of failure that it will drive right to its brink. I need to breathe. *Breathe*. And remember this is for me, not for "not picking." This week will put me to the test. With two essays, a midterm, and my great monthly gift, I'm already on eage. I feel vunerable. Stress is the culprit of my picking, and it's lurking around the corner as I speak. It's in the pit of my stomach, growing larger with each passing moment I don't study, don't start my essay, and possibly don't earn perfect grades. It's hard to breathe easily when stress and anxiety wrap me. But I want to. I want to breathe easier. I want to wake up tomorrow and see that clear face I've been seeing every morning. I can't begin to take that for granted. And I will try my hardest not to.