Sick at home.
I'm taking this time to write all about the way my life has been going recently. I remain in the same place I was in two months ago. I search for a reason or a method of escape, but all I find are more questions. The only companionship available is just another reason for my constant analysis of life. I've had three "companions" in a one-month span. And each one fucks me up even more. I'm a smart girl, once labeled "gifted," but I still lack the ability to learn from my mistakes. Even worse, I hunt for opportunities to make them. I don't try to make more friends anymore. I've been rejected so many times that I'd rather be a loner. My list of friends: Natasha, Karina, Whitney. I've begun to hate everyone at school, including the teachers. I'm always tired because I don't eat that much anymore, just random snacks throughout the day. I don't think I'm fat, I'm not trying to lose weight, I just don't think about food. I'm too busy with the millions of other thoughts in my head. I think of all these ideas to write about, but when I put my fingers to the keyboard, nothing comes out. I'm inspired but blocked. How does that work? I've been sick for over a week now, but today has been very healing to me physically. Mentally and emotionally, I'm a whole mess of things. Distracted, over-focused. Distant, attached. Motivated, lazy. Jittery, unmoving. Where does this leave me? I'm just so unbelievably confused that it's hard to do anything at all. Walking downstairs suddenly becomes a metaphor for my low quality of life slowly descending into a wasteful existence. Pouring myself a tall glass of milk is a symbol of over-exaggeration. I will never drink that full glass, so why did I pour that much? Because even the tiniest kinks in my life become the barrier to my happiness. I'm a wannabe lost soul.