Like a diary for the very first time April 17, 2012
And so my desk was dirty, for the first time in weeks it was covered in papers and rift raft and I couldn’t tell if I cared. It was such a little problem, such a first world, teenage problem but my nerves, my head, my heart I couldn’t help but feel so overwhelmed by how underwhelming everything was.
I felt no passion when I touched myself when I touched fingers with someone else, no light in their eyes and suddenly I felt alone, like the battle I was fighting- I was the only one doing it. And among this crowd, this group of 30,000 individuals at this place called university I couldn’t help but feel so totally alone and so completely nervous at this fact alone. All my friends- or rather, many of my friends- are back home enjoying the beach, the Sun the sails and their universities to the same extent I’m enjoying mine and what’s the most nerve racking thought; the one that’s been coming up the most.
I don’t know what I want to do- yes it’s normal for some- but for the girl who’s spent the last fifteen years of her life dedicated to accomplishing my goal, I’m not so sure what my goal is anymore. Yes veterinary school is this feat I must accomplish but what after that? What’s my great plan?
I don’t have one.
I just have love and passion which are a lot kexier than I expected ( it’s a new word I learned meaning brittle). I can literally feel swells of passion leaving my finger tips and going no where- they’re definitely not on this page, all that’s on this page is relief because I don’t have to listen to anyone respond to this. Oh yeah in case you were wondering this has kind of become my fake diary in addition to my random thoughts on protecting the planet because I’m too intimidated by the large dandelion covered book known as my journal. I can’t write about death or depression or anger- I feel so much anger and it’s towards myself mostly and that can’t be healthy. It can’t.
And today after I was interviewed for this paper I used to work for, about a position I now hold for a committee – I went off on a tangent about pro-choice groups on campus being unnoticeable and this girl got so mad at me. I realized I was wrong but in the same second I realized I was so cocky, so out of it I also realized I haven’t really done anything worth while in this interview. Maybe that’s why I really didn’t care? I felt like the work I was doing was so incredibly incomplete and tiny that it was sad it was being recognized.
I remember feeling the exact same way in high school thinking that having an entire page in the yearbook for an event my friends and I planned to raise money for The Humane Society was sweet, but it was too much. It didn’t challenge me it just made me upset. Praise me when I deserve it, when my work has touched humanity like being involved in the Huffington Post or Girls For a Change or all the things that I have yet to accomplish(which I would like to think is a lot). Pats on the head and a smile are great motivators for some but for the most part all I need is a “I notice what you’re doing, that’s nice of you” because as patronizing as that sounds everything else is far worse to me.
Mostly, what I need is to stop being my biggest enemy, to open my journal and finally write- to meditate and stop fighting in my head because all these battles I can’t win- that’s the most destructive part of it all.