I’m likely getting my Xanax prescription filled later. That’s the kind of day/week/year/life I’m having. Cool shit.
I’ve been working on yearbooks for three years now. When I was in high school, it was a real solace for me. I loved design and getting to stalk people’s pictures and so on and so forth. In college, it’s hell. I get paid almost $500 a year for it (whereas I normally do it for free), and it’s still hell. We get no photos, no assistance, nobody responds to e-mails, and our deadlines are ridiculous. I had three pages due finals week, and the editor-in-chief didn’t answer my e-mails to her and later acknowledged there was no way I could have gotten them in in time due to a lack of photos and help. Nevertheless, my pay got cut.
The fuck.
I also have no idea what’s going on in my relationship right now. I can barely determine how I feel about my shoes today, let alone my nearly-half-a-year relationship. I am not used to dealing with things on this level, and it scares the fuck out of me.
Plus, he loves me, and I don’t love him. And the guilt from that is overwhelming sometimes. I just can’t feel it, though. I don’t feel it. I don’t love anyone or anything, honestly, including myself. The closest I ever got to loving was my mild addiction to a fat blue cat. And I had to kill said cat via lethal injection. Love is not my thing.
My fear of dependence is astounding. To the point, ironically, that I probably become dependent.
The gods like to fuck with my brain, apparently.
I’ve been going back and reading old posts, and I ended up deleting about 150 of them. This blog was approaching 500 posts. It’s now at 300 and something. Most of the deleted ones were stupid shit, projects I never pulled through on, mindless complaining. But I will admit I deleted some of the intense ones. I just didn’t want them there; they were not worthy of existence.
I’m also considering removing comments entirely from the blog. I probably won’t do it, but it’s floating in my brain. Sometimes I feel like all I get is nothing, complaints, or spam. And to be brutally honest, at this point in my life and blog, I don’t care what anyone has to say. If you want to have a conversation with me and talk to me, that’s awesome, but you may have to do it via e-mail now.
I don’t know. I just feel detached from the universe. Nothing is what it was.
I often feel like I have no friendships. I often feel like I don’t really feel. The only things I feel are anger and disappointment and stress. I’ve lost my appetite; I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening and it’s now 1 o’clock. I’ve even lost my sex drive, which means you know shit is bad.
I am desireless. I desire nothing. I want to lie in my bed and cry for an hour and then fall asleep and not wake up until March. That’s reasonable, right?
No. It’s not. I have no reason. I have no reason to be this unhappy. I am one of the most privileged people in the world, quite literally, and I am not happy. That is pathetic.
I get angry at the drop of a hat. I’m angry all the time. I don’t know why. I hate anger. I don’t know why. I don’t know.
Sometimes it feels like my soul has just died inside of me. At times, it seems I no longer have a conscience, no longer have any grasp on or care for the emotions of other people. I am some sort of demon. I have destroyed or am destroying my relationship with everyone. All I do is go to class, attempt to function, go back to my room. The old in-out no longer means fucking.
I am not living right now. I am existing. Floating.
Things will turn up. I know that. Years of going through this shit have taught me that. But right now, they are turned down, and that is just the fact of the matter.
