Exhaustion

Today just proved the overall suckiness of school. (In addition to said suckiness, since 9.45, I spent the whole bloody day in the same classroom. Suffocating.)

I don’t really know where it all went wrong, but suddenly I find this feeling of dread dragging me under, right down into the dark depths of despair.

Maybe it’s just because I had a really long and quiet walk home alone and, really, too much time alone isn’t very good. It makes your mind wander into those deep and murky areas you’ve always tried to ignore, and alone time, yes, that’s when they come back to haunt you. Maybe seeing mskry just brought back everything I had chucked in one corner, all the cracks that I had oh-so-carefully sealed with pasty white glue. Like bright neon lights, they are impossible to miss. Maybe... it’s just my ridiculous aversion to change.

If I could survive uprooting everything I’ve ever had and moving 7 hours away, why can’t I survive a mere change of schedule? That’s all it is, isn’t it? Schedule. Nothing more, nothing less. For a moment, I pretend not to know the answer. I pretend that I was just as clueless as anyone. But I can’t fool myself.

What are blogs for really? Wasn’t it created as an avenue for self-expression, self-reflection? But what is the point, if we all feel compelled to filter our thoughts, carefully avoiding the very things that are bothering us. We don't mention names, we don't talk about anything that we really want to. If we so much as venture into a negative flow of thought, we try to justify ourselves by hiding behind the words “I’m emoing”. How senseless. “Oh, don’t talk to me, I’m emoing!” I hate emo. I hate the invention of the word emo. I hate the usage of the word emo. When you really think about it, emo doesn’t necessarily have to mean sad/depressed/down/upset/whatever. Emo derives from the word emotional, and we all know that it has positive connotations too. Doesn’t that mean that I can be described as emo when I’m bursting with joy?

Even while writing this, I’m disgusted at myself for writing so much, yet so little. There really are so many things I want to say, to tell, to share, but inevitably, I stop myself. I hate all these ambiguousness, this dancing around the real issue at hand.

Sometimes, I feel like such a fraud.