I do realise that my previous post may not have been very specific. You probably ask yourselves: “what the hell is she talking about?”
I know. If only I had an idea about what I actually want.
So I’ll try again. I’ll try to put in words why I feel the way I feel (i.e. at the very bottom of the jar called Life, where getting to the lid is the achievement of ultimate happiness) and what I want to do to stop feeling this way.
I feel shit. I feel shit because I dropped out of uni, and yes I do know I can come back there next year, but I am not even sure if I want to. I am going to continue higher education, but I don’t know at which institution. Yet, if I want to change it, I have to start working on my Personal Statement now and request a reference from my tutor now.
I know, doable. But writing a Personal Statement is hell already even if you don’t have a thunderstorm in your mind.
I feel shit because I realised that I have friends in Edinburgh. But I have friends in Yorkshire, too. And I have friends in Poland, although when it comes to Poland they are dotted all around the country. And I want to spend time with my friends. But I always have to find a compromise. Can’t be with all of them simultaneously.
I think that social media should finally let us forget people we can no longer spend time with.
But it won’t.
I feel shit because I met a nice person but I am not good enough to be friends with him because of my problems. I would only bring him down.
I feel shit because I can no longer do stuff that I like to do.
What do I like to do, though?
At the moment, nothing. Nothing really brings me joy. Writing is kind of a relief, but it won’t get me anywhere.
…or will it?
This is yet to be seen, I suppose. Sometimes I tell myself: hey, J.K. Rowling was depressed to, and now she’s on the top of the world.
She worked really hard to create something amazing, though. I am not hard working. I am just dumb. I quit university. She didn’t. She had a baby, I don’t, so what’s my problem? I live with my parents and I don’t even have to cook for myself.
So what’s my problem?
Maybe the lack of challenge. And homesickness, for sure. But I miss the other home. The home I made for myself somewhere else. Somewhere that my fate brought me to.
Or is there no fate? But if there is no fate, there’s no point in life, I believe. I mean: we are born and we die, where’s the point in that? We must be created for some greater purpose.
…so what am I going to do?