Here’s the truth: I feel nothing.
Well, most of the time.
I don’t know what’s up with me these days. I’ve been loafing here in my room, doing nothing but checking my phone for Twitter or Facebook updates. I shall have to keep my hands off smartphones already. I’ve got lots of readings to catch up on but I’d still choose to lie on my bed, stare at the ceiling and wait for sleep to visit me. Usually, just looking at the ceiling.
Feeling nothing towards everything is worse than being extremely mad at something. Before, I’d say I hate school! I don’t like people! I want to quit! Those days were better. At least there was a considerable reaction that I feel towards things that I deal with every day. At least I knew what I like and don’t like. At least I cared.
Now, I feel nothing. I am disappointingly content with just being here, being there. Everything is okay for me. Everything is fine. And everything is wrong. Truthfully.
I’m anxious, at the moment, though.
I am worried about the consequences of my action, or inaction. I am secretly frightened of the aftereffect of my being irresponsible, although I already have a clear vision of how it would look and feel like. I feel guilty again. I wouldn’t be feeling any of these had I done all those required of me. Had I accomplished those expectations of me. I hate pleasing others and living for others. Still, I have to. I know I have to.
Here’s the truth: I’M CRAMMING, PANICKING AND DRIFTING AWAY.
x
