Losing Interest

The things I normally love to do are of zero interest to me right now. At first, I didn’t really notice because the one thing I was still showing interest in, my favourite thing to do, writing, hadn’t really disinterested me. It had waned, for sure, because I was nowhere near the level of writing output, or even idea output, as usual, but I knew that it was still there. Just subdued.

No matter how disinterested I get in things, somehow the writing always squirms its way in. It may come in the form of journalling instead of other projects but there is usually a sliver there. I hold onto that when the times grow dark.

But right now, even writing, even writing this, feels detached. I’m sorry if it comes across harsh that I’ve lost interest and don’t care. I never want my writing to be such a chore, in any capacity. But it has. I enrolled in a writing course at the university thinking, “if anything will get spark me back into at least having my sliver of interest in writing, nothing could do it like a writing course”. Weekly writing assignments, in class writing, discussing writing, and workshop writing, were all potential for that spark to come back. There wouldn’t be much that would excite me the way a course like that would. Except it didn’t.

I enrolled, and still no interest. I didn’t dread going to the first class but I wasn’t excited for sure. I was very meh about it. Whatever. I hoped that once I did the class it would stir something, but no. The first class was alright. I expected to come away with that sliver of excitement, talking about the course, the people, the writing, but nothing. And when in the following six days I not only didn’t complete the homework writing assignment, I completely forgot about it until the night before the next class.

I. Forgot. A. Writing. Assignment.

What the crap?

Me?

Something is not right here.

This was new. This is new. And I’m somewhere between not caring and being a little surprised. I’m now completely disinterested in ALL that formerly made me happy, or gave me pleasure. ALL OF IT.

I see my psychiatrist this week, and I think she will be surprised to learn of this as well. Either way, the course is out. Instead of wasting my time, I’m withdrawing from the course.

Wherever my interest has gone, I hope it comes back.

Trying to Understand Myself

I am trying to work towards a better day for myself. It’s on a daily basis that I work for this because to be able to just wake up and face the world, or meet the world, is not something that I can just wake up to. It has to be worked for.

Today for example I am aiming to try and be out for as long as possible, to be out of the house, functioning, and just not cocooned on my couch where everything would surely get worse.

Except I am sitting here, unable to be productive, and thinking of turning to destructive behaviours. I’m not sure why. I feel very restless and very chaotic in my mind. I feel like I won’t be able to accomplish anything.

*TW* So all that I can think of right now is walking over to the store, and knowing they have Easter candy on sale, getting me a bagful of goodies and going home and stuffing myself until I feel sick.

I’m not hungry. But I am frustrated and feeling restless so I know that my thinking of food is all emotion mind. I can’t even really afford to buy anything since I’m broke but I’m moving money around in my head and finding ways that I can get what I want.

I wish I knew why I was falling to this…

Afraid

 

…going through some of my self-help books has led me to feel jumbled in my thoughts and emotions. A combination of the last few months, the last few days, and the last few hours, I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like I need a rest. I need a break. A break from work, life, my thoughts, my emotions, my worries, my fears, from everything.

I feel like crying. I feel torn. I want to run. I want to scream. It feels like life is passing me by. I feel over cluttered with emotional and mental baggage and objects. I feel like I could explode. I worry that my stress will make me sick and if I were to get sick what would that teach me? If everything happens for a reason, then what will be my moment and will I see it? so many bad things happen to everyone, why wouldn’t I be one of them? how can I let go when it is only a matter of time before I am cut down by something bad? Pain is inevitable right?

If I die having let my dreams pass me by, will it really matter?

If I die having been known what will it matter. I will still be dead.

Life feels so pointless. If I go my whole life and do nothing more, will it really matter?

If I do what I believe is my dream and it turns out that I am wrong?

If I fail then I am right back where I started.

If I end up full circle will the fact that I tried really matter?

Honestly?

There’s no fulfillment in trying and failing.

There’s no peace in starting from the beginning again with nothing to show for it.

I believed that if you found your path, your destiny, that the universe conspired to help you.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

If it is true then I guess I don’t really want what I thought I did.

If what I thought was my dream, my calling, and I am wrong, then what is my destiny?

I’m crying and I’m not sure why.

I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of trying.

I’m afraid of failing.

I’m afraid of being wrong.

I’m afraid of not trying.

I’m afraid of moving forward.

I’m afraid of standing still.

I’m afraid of who I am.

I’m afraid of who I am not.

I’m afraid of not knowing.

I’m afraid of being lost.

I’m afraid of being found.

I’m afraid of being alone.

I’m afraid of being close to someone.

I’m afraid of the unknown.

I’m afraid of not being seen.

I’m afraid to raise my voice.

I’m afraid of being disappointed.

I’m afraid I will disappoint.

I’m afraid I will miss something.

I’m afraid I will do it wrong.

I’m afraid I will be left out.

I’m afraid that I will be forgotten.

I’m afraid that I will be too late.

I’m afraid that it is already too late.

I’m afraid to keep it.

I’m afraid to let it go.

I’m afraid that all I know to be wrong about me will actually be true.

I’m afraid that I will deserve what I get.

I’m afraid that everything I get will be bad.

I’m afraid that I will be a statistic.

I’m afraid that I will be one of the people it happens to.

I’m afraid that “it” will be only pain and fear.

I’m afraid that any happiness will not last.

I’m afraid that any achievement will be false.

I’m afraid that any good fortune will be lost.

I’m afraid that I will always have to fight.

I’m afraid that I will lose the fight.

I’m afraid that there will never be enough.

I’m afraid that I will never be enough.

I’m afraid that I will never be somebody.

I’m afraid that I will never matter.

I’m afraid that I will be invisible.

I’m afraid that no one will listen.

I’m afraid that no one will care.

I’m afraid that I will never realize my dreams.

I’m afraid that what I know is wrong.

I’m afraid that I will always be torn.

I’m afraid that I will always be broken.

I’m afraid that I will always take more.

I’m afraid that I will always be misunderstood.

I’m afraid that no one will want to be my friend.

I’m afraid that I will never be beautiful.

I’m afraid that I will never be adored.

I’m afraid that I will always be hated.

I’m afraid that this is it.

I’m afraid to admit that this isn’t enough.

I’m afraid to admit that I want more.

I’m afraid to admit that I feel ashamed for wanting more.

I’m afraid to admit that I want better.

I’m afraid that I will hurt everyone I love.

I’m afraid that my flaws outweigh my strengths.

I’m afraid I have no strength.

I’m afraid that I will never be the best.

I’m afraid that I will be alone.

I’m afraid that I will deserve it.

I am so very afraid.

I am so very tired.