Shall I start this post with the perfunctory "it's been such a long time"?
Lately, life just feels like a job I am not qualified for.
Soon I will graduate, and instead of this wonderful stasis I have ensconced myself in, I will be thrust into the real world of trying to find an actual job that I actually will be under qualified for. Ah, the beauty of college life.
I was supposed to start calling places to find an internship back in August, but I haven't even begun and the deadline is sometime in the first week of November. Hello, anxiety. Can you say hello to something that never really leaves?
On my best days I feel the tinge of mania that sometimes rests on the edge of my mind. On the worst days, I am simply floating through life, not really registering anything.
I actually have people to talk to in class now. I have people to commiserate with. However, that is not the same things as having friends.
The boy I was deeply in love with still calls every day. We're getting better at communicating, I guess. Is six years too long to try to make things work?
I dream of graduating, starting my repetitive job, learning how to cook for myself, spending my nights reading, going to museums, finding actual hobbies like trivia night or book clubs. I dream of being a person surrounded by beauty- art, history, writing, music - and yet a part of me knows I will never be that person. I will instead hole myself up in my apartment and live a sad, lonely existence because I am terrified of life.
I am, of course, still fat. Come on, did you think I'd make it through a whole post without addressing the elephant in the room?
My greatest yearning is to be in my mothers house, wrapped in warm pajamas, shuffling around her kitchen while a crockpot full of delicious food bubbles, a bookmark in the Iliad, waiting for me to return.
After all, why shouldn't I read a book about getting lost? I am already there.
Instead, I try to keep up with my school work, write the essay, wish I were dead.
I force myself to step on the scale every day, and yet my heart isn't in it. My heart isn't in anything anymore.
For extra credit, I am allowed to write my own obituary. I disguise my own self-loathing with jokes, but I am afraid the professor will read it and become concerned. I do not even know how to write about myself anymore.
I hope you are all doing better than I am.
<3 Lee
