Wow. That was fucked up.
College is killing my ass. I’m drowning in work. I’m so done with this shit. I can’t stand it. I can’t take it. I’m losing it, y’all.
My mind and body are so weird. They make no sense. I am an illogical being.
How come April was simultaneously a month that felt so long yet so short? Long and short at the same time? What is this?
Time isn’t real. Time doesn’t exist. I only know what day it is because of what classes I have on which days. Which means Friday, Saturday, and Sunday don’t exist.
I’m not proofreading this. I’m tired of reading. I read all day, every day. I’m exhausted of reading words. Let me speak! Let me say some meaningless shit! God!!
I keep on having intense dreams that fuck me up. Go to sleep; go to hell. Cycle repeats and repeats and repeats—
Living is so fucked up. Like. What is the point?
It’s hard for me to accept that she’s gone. She’s fucking gone.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck !!!!!!!!!
I’m either in denial or acceptance. The stages of grief switch between the two.
Can’t go to that nursing home again to visit her. Won’t hear her ask me questions about university. No more activities. No more hearing her ask from grandpa.
No more no more no more no more !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There is a hole in my chest and stomach. I don’t know how to fill it. Nothing fills it.
I’m paranoid that a heart attack is going to kill me.
Drink water. Eat a meal. Drink water. Drink. Drink. Eat a snack. Eat. Drink. Sleep.
The hunger, the thirst, the weariness doesn’t fade. My mind is (was) foggy. Focusing is hard. I have concentration issues. I wasn’t a normal child.
After dinner, I went to my room and read an act in Hamlet. After reading that, my mind felt less foggy. I felt less like I was in a blur. After reading Hamlet of all things.
What the fuck.
My cursed brain reading Hamlet: You know what? Fierdan is like the opposite of Hamlet. Because Fierdan killed his father. I should write an essay about Fierdan (and maybe Duke as well) and characters from Shakespeare’s plays at an obscure hour like 3 or 4 am. Macbeth and Hamlet come to mind. I’m a legend.
What the actual fuck.
To be honest, I’ve been starting to miss the rude comments people made on my weight when I was younger. A little kid. I miss her comments on my thin and bony arms.
I miss how she was before she got sick. Very sick.
People commenting on my weight fucked me up. I’m paranoid. I’ve been underweight my entire childhood since the moment I was born. Weight wears me down and defines me.
I miss her talking about my weight. I miss it. It hurts.
This probably sounds like gibberish. But there is meaning in this. Life is meaningful. Yet I’m meaningless.
I won’t hear her again. Grandma passed away before her time. Fuck covid-19.
Over a million confirmed cases of covid-19 in the USA. Fuck! Increasing number of confirmed cases in my county and town. Fuck!
*imagines Fierdan shouting “Fuck!”* hell yeah!
How much water do I have to drink to satisfy my body? I drank a lot of water today.
Hmm. Perhaps I’ll drown.
I think I’ll do that.
(I don’t recommend drowning. Please don’t.)
I’m illogical and meaningless.
I wasn’t a normal child. I wasn’t a normal child. I wasn’t normal.
I’m not a normal person. I’m not normal.
For the past several months, I’ve been contemplating back and forth with myself possibly having ADHD.
I’m surprised I never rambled about that on here yet.
So here I am. (lol)
On tumblr and habitica, I’m like that all the time. Always bringing this stuff up.
Signs and symptoms. Signs and symptoms. This isn’t new. This isn’t a fad.
I just want to know if I’m a fucked up loser who’s lazy and can’t be saved. Or if I’m not.
Why can’t I be normal?
Lately, I’ve been walking in circles. Literally. Just pacing in circles. My body needs to move. I’m not stagnant. I have to move. You can’t confine me. You can’t define me. I can’t define me.
I have so many thoughts going through my head at once. At the same time, I’m zoned out.
Zoned out during the Zoom meeting. I’m totally out of it.
I think I’m made of fire. I can feel fire inside of me. Not in a metaphorical way. I mean literally. It feels like fire. I feel my insides burning. I’m burning.
I had a dream I had a concussion. I woke up with a headache.
What the fuck does any of this mean, Shan? Hold on. Let the vibes wash over you.
Wash... Oh shit, you’re right. Thanks, the small functional part of my rational side of my brain.
I should take another shower. Wash the dirt and sweat of staying inside all day.
Rainy weather makes me feel weird. The rain messes me up. Bad.
Water. Drink water. Drink your sorrows. Away, away.
How come I still feel dehydrated? What the fuck is your problem, body?
Well then. I guess it’s time I go drown.
.......... I’m starting to really miss therapy.
But it’s not like I can go back.
Fuck money. Fuck this fucking coronavirus.
Oh, the woes of being me. The afflictions of being human.
It’s the end of April. The death of April.
And of me.
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