Lazy, dispassionate, inexplicably agitated. Life isn't that cruel. So why do I continue to live as if I have a heavy heart?
Uncertainty consumes my waking hours. There is little I look forward to during my daily routine. There is no real joy to extract from many of my days.
I was not always this way. I had a passion for my studies, an optimism for the near future that fueled my desire to excel. When did this extinguish? It is impossible to pinpoint. I wonder why this feeling evades me now.
Oh, I put a good enough front. Laughing and cracking jokes at appropriate and inappropriate times. Making seemingly witty remarks throughout the day on social media. Everything to indicate that I am quite fine and take joy in the minutia, even the banal occurrences. However, I do not.
I have to come to the conclusion that I have become ugly. Not just in a physical sense. But, I do not want to stare at mirrors for too long, hardly recognizing my reflection. There is only the grotesque version my mind and soul wishes I was not.
I undoubtedly hate this me. I cannot, I refuse to continue living this way, watching my youth pass by me and sinking further into disrepair. Change, a significant shift, is absolutely essential. This destructive rut will only lead to overwhelming self pity, which is really the last thing I need.
"Snap the fuck out of it," I tell myself on a daily basis, as I shuffle from point A, to B, to C, and back to A again. But how? How to break the bonds of this unwarranted lethargy?
I do not know the answer. I do now this: the days might be long, but the years are short. I intend on making this year count.
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