"Anna I think this weed was laced with pcp. Lol fuck." -Lila
I might start doing a word of the day.
Decathect [dee-kuh-thekt]
-verb (used with object)
To withdraw one's feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss: Anna is finding it difficult to decathect.
This paper is scarily relevant. Granted, Hemingway probably wasn't a genius because he had no grasp on common themes in people's lives, and I usually find a highly dramatic way to make everything relate to me. Still, it shouldn't take this long for me to start avoiding myself. I'm usually much better at it.
I should write my college essay, but (as per usual) I am rendered perpetually catatonic by the fear that even a rough draft may turn out remotely trite.
It feels like when I break a glass and there's just this endless barren silence, and I lose my appetite in the wake of the moment.
That's not to say that everything is bad and nothing feels good. It's just in my nature to focus on the complications, as anyone who has ever tried to comfort me knows. It's also much too easy to write through the angst on here, hence the livejournal stigma. The temptation to cut the vagueness with concrete evidence is great, but perilous. And it's much harder to be vague about the good things, because I have a slight propensity to brag. So I just sort of leave them out.
Decathect [dee-kuh-thekt]
-verb (used with object)
To withdraw one's feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss: Anna is finding it difficult to decathect.
This paper is scarily relevant. Granted, Hemingway probably wasn't a genius because he had no grasp on common themes in people's lives, and I usually find a highly dramatic way to make everything relate to me. Still, it shouldn't take this long for me to start avoiding myself. I'm usually much better at it.
I should write my college essay, but (as per usual) I am rendered perpetually catatonic by the fear that even a rough draft may turn out remotely trite.
It feels like when I break a glass and there's just this endless barren silence, and I lose my appetite in the wake of the moment.
That's not to say that everything is bad and nothing feels good. It's just in my nature to focus on the complications, as anyone who has ever tried to comfort me knows. It's also much too easy to write through the angst on here, hence the livejournal stigma. The temptation to cut the vagueness with concrete evidence is great, but perilous. And it's much harder to be vague about the good things, because I have a slight propensity to brag. So I just sort of leave them out.