I am kinda...
like...
really miserable.
Not only because college life is difficult (aka when all the academic, social, financial, family complications come at you in one big kamekameha attack) but because I haven't really been reading or writing all that much anymore. Sure, a lot of it is because I don't have any free time for any leisure reading. But even when I do, I'm just not into it. When I'm reading a new novel, I feel like it's a waste of time. When I'm trying to write a fiction story, I feel guilty for not focusing on my problems in the real world. Either way, I just end up looking for something else to do because I get so frustrated that these hobbies don't give me the peace and satisfaction that I used to get from them.
Admitting that out loud feels like a sick punch to the throat - like I'm saying goodbye to the one thing that has been my comfort and security. I can't help but think about how I'll be like two, three, six years down the road. Will I ever get back into the whole fictional world again? Or does growing up require a trade off between imagination and success? Maybe it's because I'm a STEM major that I'm thinking this way? I can't even articulate my words correctly. I have no idea if this post is making the slightest bit of sense.
I do know that I feel really lost - not just with my career and academic work, but also with my inner self. Books and fictional worlds in general were (are) a big part of me and I don't know why I keep insisting to push them away but now, I get really sad and it's not as easy for me to jump into a new world to distract myself anymore.
Here's a couple of pictures that will hopefully counter the negativity of this update:
(If you see a nature post on my instagram, 99% of the time it's because I'm feeling blue-er than usual. I think it's a funny way to keep track of my emo social media moments lol)
