(no subject)
A dull sense of misery, jitteriness, and confusion. And I have no idea why. I know I have questions which I have problems answering, like what do I really feel? What do I want? Why do people do the things they do? Why do I do the things they do? Why can't I know my emotions better?
No energy, no passion, no motivation in these last few days. I remember my first few days, sore from rock climbing, getting to know Valentin, realizing that for the most part I didn't like the other people around me. And now the last days, time spent alone, uncertain, nervous over things that I can't express into substance. Nervous that I will never feel captivated again. I block the noise with films like Miller's Crossing or Wings of Desire. Despite my inner-nagging that I should read more, nothing speaks to me like these films do. Why is that? Is it because I can best accept my own life when I view it cinematically? I don't know. Perhaps I can do better in life being a character in my story instead of a regular person with regular passions.
But still, why do they do the things they do? Why do the things they do hurt me so much? Why don't they understand, or do they just not care?
Sometimes I berate myself because I try to be stoic but I am so obviously not. But then why can't I shed a tear or two when I feel intense pain? Why can't I stop functioning? Why is it that I live the same way when I'm screaming inside as I do when I'm fine?
No energy, no passion, no motivation in these last few days. I remember my first few days, sore from rock climbing, getting to know Valentin, realizing that for the most part I didn't like the other people around me. And now the last days, time spent alone, uncertain, nervous over things that I can't express into substance. Nervous that I will never feel captivated again. I block the noise with films like Miller's Crossing or Wings of Desire. Despite my inner-nagging that I should read more, nothing speaks to me like these films do. Why is that? Is it because I can best accept my own life when I view it cinematically? I don't know. Perhaps I can do better in life being a character in my story instead of a regular person with regular passions.
But still, why do they do the things they do? Why do the things they do hurt me so much? Why don't they understand, or do they just not care?
Sometimes I berate myself because I try to be stoic but I am so obviously not. But then why can't I shed a tear or two when I feel intense pain? Why can't I stop functioning? Why is it that I live the same way when I'm screaming inside as I do when I'm fine?