It's taken me a year to get my thoughts in order, but I finally did it. I think.
So I guess studying at home for two years took a toll on me, although I refused to accept it at the time - and I certainly wasn't willing to come forward and suggest, "Oh, perhaps I do need to see people of my age and talk to them everyday, it does make a difference!" As far as I knew, I felt happy, but my body was throwing a terrible tantrum. Why the fuck was it doing that?
After a tedious two years (which is a surprising thing to say about a period of time when my days consisted primarily of doing nothing), college started. Everything was so much better. I was forced to accept that maybe I wasn't that happy before. It's confusing, when you never felt sad, but all the evidence proves that you were. The realisation was most unpleasant - for fuck's sake, I was the perennially happy one, ever the optimist. I couldn't be chronically sad.
Now I know. I don't like knowing. I can't be that perennially happy person again, because apparently I am fallible. I sometimes sleep my days away (dreams are so mesmerising). I sometimes don't care. Sometimes things feel weird - a strange detached sensation and the thought that nothing really matters. "Say that awful thing that you want to say, it doesn't make a difference!" But it does, and I have to keep reminding myself, keep reminding myself.
The good thing is, I have warm winds to lift me out of these horrid ditches of indifference.
Teachers who look at me, and they expect something of me. I might be in a slump, but I can't disappoint them, and I know they're right about me - I can get out of it.
Even if everything seems hopeless, I can do it.
So I guess studying at home for two years took a toll on me, although I refused to accept it at the time - and I certainly wasn't willing to come forward and suggest, "Oh, perhaps I do need to see people of my age and talk to them everyday, it does make a difference!" As far as I knew, I felt happy, but my body was throwing a terrible tantrum. Why the fuck was it doing that?
After a tedious two years (which is a surprising thing to say about a period of time when my days consisted primarily of doing nothing), college started. Everything was so much better. I was forced to accept that maybe I wasn't that happy before. It's confusing, when you never felt sad, but all the evidence proves that you were. The realisation was most unpleasant - for fuck's sake, I was the perennially happy one, ever the optimist. I couldn't be chronically sad.
Now I know. I don't like knowing. I can't be that perennially happy person again, because apparently I am fallible. I sometimes sleep my days away (dreams are so mesmerising). I sometimes don't care. Sometimes things feel weird - a strange detached sensation and the thought that nothing really matters. "Say that awful thing that you want to say, it doesn't make a difference!" But it does, and I have to keep reminding myself, keep reminding myself.
The good thing is, I have warm winds to lift me out of these horrid ditches of indifference.
Teachers who look at me, and they expect something of me. I might be in a slump, but I can't disappoint them, and I know they're right about me - I can get out of it.
Even if everything seems hopeless, I can do it.
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