I find myself in this strange space right now. It’s a hazy uncomfortable place between not being able to throw up and absolute contentment. But scary contentment. The discontent that feels like contentedness, that feels like you don’t care when you actually do.
Because I am not content in any way. not in where I am in life, not with where my body is and how it feels, and not with my attitudes. I am not content with my school work and I am not content.
I’ve lost a grip on the things I love and the parts of me that made me feel unique. I’m kind of just existing right now with this constant sense of discontent. I’ve lost my love and drive for art; I’ve lost my drive and love for reading; I’ve lost my love for anime and writing, and I’m just existing in this world where I’m a student with no money and no stability.
I exist simply to graduate and it’s slowly killing me.
Because even when I’m getting this amazing grades I feel great for a minute or two but then I just feel this crushing existence on me again like I don’t have time to live. Like I have a responsibility to my schooling, to my bills, to my debt not to love life, and not to buy new paints, or try something new.
It is likely depression in actuality, and I’m working on talking to someone about my mental health.
I’m trying to take on too much, but all the things (mental and physical health, school work, me time, trying to find a job, etc) is all interconnected. You can’t work on one thing.
It’s so easy to lose yourself. To forget all the things you love in favour or success. Or to survive. It’s easy to push off the crocheting, or the painting, or the hours you’d spend writing fanfiction or poetry. It’s easy to have to. When things are building up and choking you what else are you going to do?
It’s here and now, sitting outside in the freezing winter evening, trying to find any reason to exist that I wonder how hard it’ll be to find all those things once again.