I keep catching myself wanting to write volumes, and then sitting in front of the computer unable to write anything at all. There’s this constant constricting feeling in my chest, and it’s sloooooowly suffocating me. I’m tired but I don’t want to sleep, I’m feeling, but I don’t want to think. I want to be upset but I keep losing spirit.
This is disheartening. I’m caught between what I am and what I dream.
Classes have started again, and advisors and friends alike are telling me of the academic suicide I’ve got in store. I see myself at the end, in victory. But I can’t seem to find a path beyond the first steps. I wish I were a robot, or even just autopilot, so I can loosen up, let my guard down, close my eyes and simply… rest.
I just need to keep going on. Almost there. How hard can it be?