disjointed thoughts
My head is so heavy, from the heat, from studying, and from the overwhelming thoughts that I seemingly have dwelled upon immensely today. Several of my posts suggest that I long for summer, and now that it is here- in full of blast, I hate it. I hate everything about it; I hate that I’m not carefree; I hate that I’m not at the beach;I hate that I am irritable and cranky; I hate that I want to be outside; I hate that being outside means that I’m around people; I hate that I don’t know how to communicate with people anymore.
In recent weeks, I’ve found myself detached from everyday conversations, and hold no interest nor opinion on any matters-big or small. Maybe I’ve justified it by stating that my own troubles- my health and school are more important than the trivial-in-my-eyes issues of others. Even still, problems have always existed, but being social, enjoying seeing people, and being atleast pleasant to be around seemed to come so naturally. I wonder where that’s all gone, and why I’m having so much trouble retrieving it once again. I wonder if I’ll ever be “myself;” I wonder if all these new feelings I have, whether suppressed or not, really define who I am— or if who I was before wasn’t me to begin with in the first place.
Sitting outside ABP today, my mind wandered to the days of last summer; I thought how much happier I was then than I am today. I was down the shore every weekend, I had healthy relations in Boston and at home, and I considered being emotionally attached a terrible thing. But then, I’m almost sure that I still found myself unhappy last summer—I probably found myself bored and tired. Moving on I thought about the summer before the last.. Even then, all I can remember is a time during which binge drinking and other reckless, and carefree behavior came naturally. But again, I know I found myself unhappy but easily masked my problems with an apathetic persona. Needless to say, good things have come with the bad this summer, and surely next summer I will be sitting at ABP reflecting upon how “great” this summer was. The only way I can make sense of all this is by attributing it to age. With age, comes more adult problems, and in hindsight- the worst summers of my life were probably the best. I suppose that means the best years are all behind me. Which makes one wonder, why continue when you are only always nostalgic for the past? - That one, small frame of time you were “happy.”
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