The name that you see me on here by.
You can interpret it as the bruised blood that every human inevitably receives during a lifetime – be it long or short. Or anything. Really. I’m losing the will. You can interpret it any shit way you like since it doesn’t really matter.
Maybe I’ll share with you something that I wrote to someone close to my heart. My dad.
And when someone is close to your heart, the sharp things that they hold accumulated combined with sudden movements that you can’t predict- doesn’t matter if they were intended for you- shreds your heart into long sharp pieces of debris.
(I can only hope that I have not accidentally made way into someone else’s heart chamber. But probably have. And left, but they probably held onto pieces of my shadow.)
I’m over that now. But this has come up.
–
I don’t know if you know this, but life since getting here has been kind of shitty.
Academically I don’t feel motivated at all. I would skip the lectures for half of the week then schmoop on the internet for some ideas for a half-baked essay (which is, at the moment, still half-baked).
Back then (meaning probably 5 months ago? Time feels more and more irreversible and I swear it could have been years ago that I was in Canada), I used to feel so incredibly motivated to make notes and write essays and excel in the one subject that I was good at.
And that is how I find myself here.
All my life I have only known education. Everything is compulsory, compulsory, mandatory and god knows if I didn’t concentrate enough in that particular system I would be an outcast. So I did it, and it only makes sense that now I find myself here, up the final rungs of the educational ladder, only to have it wobble dangerously.
Everything is out of balance.
Last night someone was getting high in the room above mine and in the utter silence of the night (I’m talking from around 11pm to 3am in the morning) they stomped around and dropped heavy objects to the floor and the banging and thumping and falling tortured my brain. It was like auditory torture and I had no sleep until 6am when I collapsed into the bed, angry, frustrated, exhausted, really fed up.
And then I woke up when the night was dark again at 5pm.
A day gone and all lectures missed.
It wasn’t like I felt motivated to go to all of them anyway?
Ever since the summer job with copywriting something has felt a little off. I’m not going into creative writing anyway. I am not a fountain of inspiration. So the other option is going into the commercial field.
Spouting long, extended bullshit and interpreting sophisticated poetry with literary jargon- how is that going to help anything? Anyone? At all? On an even more basic level it strikes me as entirely impractical in the commercial field. Screw the knowledge in adjectives. Thesaurus can do the trick for anyone.
I really wish that I can say I am okay and I tell myself that all the time but it is not working. Life seems pointless. Meaningless. The days and nights have no end.
1 comment
I think you should reconsider creative writing. Not saying inspiration is easy, but you have a whole lifetime of experience ahead to accumulate and tortuously drag out onto the page. Maybe not in the commercial field, but the way you express yourself really can help others to feel less alone in their experiences.
You’re right that everyone is essentially thinking about themselves (relative to each other), and only you can act, but no one is an island. Who knows how our brains might react to the next comment or interaction, what direction we might spin off in.