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klenaThings feel strange inside myself again. Or maybe not strange inside, but definitely just above the skin. Hovering.
I hate the late nights. Before bed when my soul is glistening with the desire of being reforged anew, that tomorrow things are gonna be different and I'm gonna be so productive and I'm gonna be who I feel I might be in the shadow of my mind. The possibility, the hope, the tingle of excitement.
I hate the days. Throwing myself out of bed to switch off alarms and crawl back under covers, warmth, security, where I can be nothing and easy. Curling up and falling back into a world where I don't have to be. Then the lethargy of the day. Rushing about, feeling unprepared, no lunch made, forgetting something (a book, to wash my hair, to make lunch, to brush my teeth).
Lessons that spark something for minutes. Ideas that are bright in my mind, and new, and exciting. But then today, I felt snappish (the girl I sat beside starting raising hackles even though I quite like her) and didn't feel like being social, being in the environment. And I came home and did nothing and napped in the evening and worked for a small bit when all the housemates stopped watching TV.
My desire is gone. I have an essay for next Friday I haven't even considered, segements of Paradise Lost to read for Monday, Shakespeare to read for Friday, Freud to read by tomorrow and I don't care. I have two essays in two weeks after Shakespeare. And I have no impetus. My drive is practically non-existent and that terrifies me, because that might meant the depression is back. And I know it probably isn't (because it's not really something that goes away, it just...stops being so prominant in your life), that my fears are probably just the season's change and a malaise of the end of university and some illness that hasn't hit me yet but just lingers and I. I worry.
I want to work. I want to read my texts and secondary reading and enjoy it. I don't want university to be over. But I don't want to keep feeling like this.
I hate the late nights. Before bed when my soul is glistening with the desire of being reforged anew, that tomorrow things are gonna be different and I'm gonna be so productive and I'm gonna be who I feel I might be in the shadow of my mind. The possibility, the hope, the tingle of excitement.
I hate the days. Throwing myself out of bed to switch off alarms and crawl back under covers, warmth, security, where I can be nothing and easy. Curling up and falling back into a world where I don't have to be. Then the lethargy of the day. Rushing about, feeling unprepared, no lunch made, forgetting something (a book, to wash my hair, to make lunch, to brush my teeth).
Lessons that spark something for minutes. Ideas that are bright in my mind, and new, and exciting. But then today, I felt snappish (the girl I sat beside starting raising hackles even though I quite like her) and didn't feel like being social, being in the environment. And I came home and did nothing and napped in the evening and worked for a small bit when all the housemates stopped watching TV.
My desire is gone. I have an essay for next Friday I haven't even considered, segements of Paradise Lost to read for Monday, Shakespeare to read for Friday, Freud to read by tomorrow and I don't care. I have two essays in two weeks after Shakespeare. And I have no impetus. My drive is practically non-existent and that terrifies me, because that might meant the depression is back. And I know it probably isn't (because it's not really something that goes away, it just...stops being so prominant in your life), that my fears are probably just the season's change and a malaise of the end of university and some illness that hasn't hit me yet but just lingers and I. I worry.
I want to work. I want to read my texts and secondary reading and enjoy it. I don't want university to be over. But I don't want to keep feeling like this.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 08:14 pm (UTC)Gonna be emailing you 'bout a li'l somethin' somethin' fer ya. :D