I feel as if everything I see is bleak and colorless.  It has been a boring day, full of boring events and well, just boring everything.  I go to swipe my straw like hair behind my ear and feel the warmth of my plump hand brush against my cheek.  I sigh and make an attempt to think of something other than what’s happening.  I think of the rain and the way it hits the ground, the way it moves everything and nothing.  After sighing multiple times I realize all I’ve been doing is sighing for the past twenty minutes but who can blame me?  Sometimes nothing is better than engaging in the conversation your parents are having with each other and not you.  I’ll admit I’ve definitely fallen below the standard I set for myself.  I thought I’d be some great student but lately I’ve realized I can’t bring myself to it.  I ask my parents if I can go walk to go smoke a cigarette.  I hate myself for it but I’ll be honest, what else can I do other than cut to handle it all?  The smoke comes back to hit me in the face, it’s seemingly misty which doesn’t make any sense until you consider the sprinkling going on outside.  It’s dark and I’m tired of well, everything.  Sometimes I wonder how I’ll do it again tomorrow.


I don’t even know

I don’t write much anymore and I think that’s a sad thing honestly.  Writing used to be something I enjoyed, then school and honors classes took over.  I can’t write stories anymore because I’m either afraid to or I’ve just written so many papers that I cannot bring myself to.  I don’t know that I should continue writing, I realize that I should for health purposes but it has become very difficult to write in light of things.  I’m just realizing that I’ve had some form of clinical depression that has only progressed in the past year, as well as an anxiety disorder of some sort.  I’ve taken a step in the right direction (I hope) and am enrolled in therapy, I’m not too happy about the therapy as a result of it being forced on me but I hope that it’ll help.  I’m very stressed and I don’t feel like people would read what I write, but I remind myself that’s okay.  I write for myself and I think I should do it more often.