Have not posted in forever. I am getting very bad at this sort of thing.
I'm in the middle of my second year at college now. Still getting my homework done and taking tests and being rather socially inept. (Listen well kids, this kind of thing is what you need to do if you never want to be cool. Ever.)
And I. And I. Feel all washed out. Like I am less vibrant. Less of an interesting human being. As if I can't muster up any enthusiasm or excitement for anything of my own. And I think there must be something wrong with me, because isn't the entire point
of college to open your eyes and engage you in thoughts you'd never thought before and allow you to meet people of diverse backgrounds and viewpoints? But... I am not that good at connecting with people with whom I share few interests. And there aren't that many people who even share my interests. I'm not even sure what interests I have anymore, actually. I feel like a dessicated fish blob.
Feelings, feelings, I am sick of my stupid feelings. To be quite honest, on good days I don't think much of Chicago, on bad days I hate it. To be quite honest, UChicago didn't turn out as quirky and wondrous as I thought it would be, and I'm sure that's my own fault as well. To be quite honest, I think I grew up in a tiny little niche that cultivated all my likes and dislikes and now I will never be able to be happy anywhere else. Everything I did, socially, this past year and a half has led me to this dead end, and I am trying to branch out, but it's so damn hard and I live off-campus and winter lasts like four months here and people tell me that I shouldn't let my environment overly influence my happiness, that I should just generate it within myself. But maybe this is the most important lesson I've learned so far. I just don't think I'm interesting enough by myself. I think I need to have people around me to inspire me and make me feel alive. I think that, left by myself, I'll just do my work and be responsible and at the end of the day, there won't be anything left of me.
You know, when I was 13, I had so many ideas and little private happinesses. I wanted to write things and draw pictures and read stories and think about characters and not. An ounce. Of it. Is left. I don't know what it is. Having less time to devote to frivolous hobbies? Having no one to share them with? I don't know, and every time I try to talk about it, I don't know what to say. I have become boring? So boring I can't stand myself anymore?
Everything I'm babbling about sounds so inconsequential. I don't know what's wrong with me.
This has not been a good year.