I'm still here, still breathing, still alive. Just tired.
I'm growing a bit more tired every day.
School life, personal life, and professional life seem to clash every other day. It's a perpetual balance except everything's falling and the metaphor is all wrong. I know I complain too much. My therapist thinks so too but she phrases it differently. Figure out what you want out of life, give yourself space, take a break. So I did.
And I hated it.
I'm not suited for a quiet life.
As melodramatic as it sounds, boredom is my worst fear. I realised that after three months of silence on this blog. I wanted to write but lacked inspiration, I didn't have to write, I needed the space. I crave the silence but I know if I had a day of nothing, I'd grow anxious. I would start another side-hustle whilst learning how to juggle and do the splits. I'd make myself busy.
Not a good idea for someone who is physically, emotionally and mentally, a f*cking mess.
I know I'm a mess.
I once cried to models at an ASOS photoshoot I organized because I thought I hadn't eaten the whole day, only to find a half-eaten veggie wrap in my schoolbag. That was my dinner in the evening and breakfast the next morning.
I'm the most functional dysfunctional mess you'll meet, but I'm still a mess nonetheless.
Work is piling up, law school makes me cry, graduation is looming over me, and don't get me started on relationships. My life is crumbling. I'm barely clinging on with chipped nails gripping at the edges. At least I'm still here and alive.
Sometimes, I think that's the best thing I do now.
"I'm still alive and I have to stay alive," has been my main mantra since I was nineteen. I don't know if that's a good thing anymore.
I'm about to graduate. That terrifies me. It's the time where I need to find a place in this world, wherever that is, or else I'm going to float through as I have the past three years. I'm not ready at all. Staying alive is great, I'm breathing and I'm okay. I just have to start living again.
God help me.
How was your 2018?
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