May 06, 2014 16:11
Today I'm restless and agitated. I have an exam on saturday and according to the practice tests I should pass with ease. I'll probably psychotically cram until then just to make sure.
I still need to schedule my 801 exam and start studying more for my 802. There are moments where I'm overwhelmed. It's sometimes difficult to see how far I've come in it all, especially with so much happening these past few years. I suppose it wouldn't feel right if it all just happened easily, I'm as bound to struggle as I am to an unceasing sense of complete chaos. I desire order, there is none to be found.
I need to find some sort of release. I don't have fun anymore, or even just, "chill". I could sit back and try to relax for however long and spend the entire time thinking about what I shouldn't be thinking about. At some point that problem needs to be acknowledged beyond a casual musing and likewise my past needs to be forgotten. It's difficult, with so many emotional fragments still stuck to me. I see the scars where I was stabbed in the mirror every time I'm about to take a shower and I think of all of it. Part of me detaches, and the other broods over a doomed scenario and nightmarish conditions that I should've trusted myself to avoid in the first place.
Despite all the negatives, it was nice to at least once be in that place of feeling loved, though I really always knew it a farce. More to the point, it was nice to love someone, to have and do those things that so many take for granted. The thought of it all sickens me now and I feel a strong urge towards anger toward anyone who would try to get so close to me.I know better with certainty and so I willingly choose to be alone in life.
There's no relief, and whatever is felt retains the theme of a sense of suffering. The words are cliche, meaningless to all, myself included, though that negates none of the truth behind them. I was long ago set in my anger towards all things of meaning being polluted by cliche. It's a consequence of language, of so many people being able to spout off on this or that, whether sincerely or not. The lack of sincerity in the world has turned both beautiful and ugly things into mass produced waste, there's no value, as all see. Those that don't respond with apathy as a result seem as fake as the words spoken or written.
There's no doubt a shirt for sale that says broken heart, perhaps with a graphic, so that it can be worn as a fashion. It may only bother me in the sense that this time it hits home. How dare the world cheapen what meant so much to me? Easily, and with an empty laugh that's as legitimate as everything and nothing. Nothing really matters in this state of mind except placing one foot in front of the other and remembering to breathe. It's a sick joke, regardless of who or what it's directed at. I laugh, for my part, in recognition of these facts and because it's such a profoundly personal joke that no one else would get it anyways. I laugh at myself often, without joy or humor, it's a bitter and ugly thing and I'm not sure the last time I laughed without that being the cause.