Saturday 6th August

281.75mg

I have accomplished nothing today.

I woke up late. Two hours after I scheduled too. I was tired.

I drank coffee. I spoke to my parents. I tried to study.

I tried to study for several hours. I read. I re-read. I focused and re-focused. I tried and I failed to comprehend. To process. To understand.

Three weeks into the semester. Three weeks gone, and three weeks wasted.

After a great performance last semester, how am I going to even maintain that now? How am I going to catch up on the work I’ve let slip behind. How can I make my mind understand what I am reading?

I’m slowly losing interest…or maybe that is the wrong word. I’m not losing interest, I’m losing the ability to care. I know what I want to achieve, and I push myself to achieve it on a daily basis. But the semester break killed me. Two trips away in two consecutive weeks killed me.

My drive is gone. My focus is gone. My mind is gone. I don’t know where, and so I can’t follow it and get it back. It’s just not here. It’s off…away…hibernating. It’s in my head. Of course, where else could it be? But it won’t listen to me. It’s retracting. It’s rolling into a ball, like a hedgehog, and its spines are impenetrable.

Maybe it’s all too much. Maybe my mind can’t take the pressure. Maybe my mind doesn’t want to work hard like it did last semester. So it refuses to cooperate.

It wants me to close up, it wants me to roll up too. To lock myself away, to pull-back, retreat, unfocus and collapse. It wants me to fail because it’s easier for us to do that, than it is to try and fail anyway.

Maybe it doesn’t want me to succeed. Maybe it’s afraid of the future. Of what could be. Of where things will go. Of what success and happiness and moving up and away from all that has gone before.

Too much stimulation, and my mind is closing in. Too much movement and work and stress and pressure and my mind is malfunctioning and pulling me down with it.

Too many responsibilities, commitments, expectations. Too much is being asked of me….but I don’t know who is asking these things of me. There is no one here but me.

It’s a quarter to five. In the evening. I am in my pajamas. I have an overwhelming urge to pull the curtains, get into my bed and refuse to get out again. To shut my eyes and wait until it passes. But if I do that, it won’t pass. It will linger. But it tries to trick me into believing it’s lies anyway. It makes me think this feeling is real. It makes me think my heavy eyelids, and my expressionless face and this sinking feeling in my chest are all real. But they are illusions, created by my mind, sent to destroy me.

It wants to get under my feet, to make me fall, so it can creep inside of me and consume me, once and for all.

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