Posts Tagged 'Sad'

Who knew it’d be this easy?

For one of my creative writing assignments thus far I had to emulate an author we had recently read. Sherman Alexie–perhaps you’ve heard of him? If not, please read this before you read the following. Believe me, it’s worth your time. Here’s me writing in the style of Alexie. Yikes!

Tenth grade and the air was crisp that morning; I could see my breath. Your mom dropped us off on the Melrose side of campus. As we walked up the grassy hill, you asked me, “How many aspirin do you have to take to kill yourself?” I went numb.

“I don’t know.”

“Well I took 35 last night and nothing happened.”

My heart sank.


You know I’m getting kind of worried, she doesn’t seem herself at all.

Oftentimes when I sit at the computer to write a paper for school, I do so with the hope that the words, sentences, paragraphs will just spew forth from my brain and be translated by my fingers pecking away on a keyboard, forming intelligent thoughts, ideas and analyses, written eloquently, that will earn me that coveted A.

Of course, more often than not, this is never the case. There was one time over the last semester that I was able to bust out a four page paper in a little over two hours but it was on poetry and this particular poet spoke to me and I enjoyed taking the few poems I had selected and dissecting them stanza by stanza and line by line, much in the same way that I might a favorite song. Why can’t it always be that easy?

I’ve been stuck lately. I’ve hit a wall and I don’t know how to get over it, around it or break through it. It’s painful. It leaves me with no motivation, no inspiration and a crippling fear; I do everything I can to avoid sitting at the computer, staring a blank Word screen. Time ticks by and it’s still blank and there is still no inclination to write. But I am running out of time, as with writing school papers come deadlines. It’s starting to cause anxiety and maybe even depression. I’ve found myself sleeping more just to avoid even trying to get up and write. My motivation to do anything remotely productive is slowly but surely dwindling. All I keep wondering is why?

Sometimes I feel like I’m two different people. There’s the happy girl that’s always down, always laughing and can roll with the punches and then there is the one that’s quiet, a little melancholy, that gets lost in her thoughts and sometimes has a rough time getting back to Earth. These two are in a constant, delicate balance for the most part–a perfect limbo, but there are times that I seem to regress and instead of looking forward, I tend to look back. And rather than looking back in appreciation, I look back with a lachrymose longing. I look back on my former life as if it were a dream–and not one that I was ready to wake up from–and I miss so much about it. The wheels start turning and the memories start pouring down. To top it off, I’ve had those suffocated, trapped feelings once again. It can be a dangerous combination.

So does all of this make me crazy? I’m hoping it just makes me normal. It’s just part of growing up. It’s just… life. Right? I can’t be the strongest, happiest girl all of the time and for whatever reason, it pains me to admit that. I figure I just need to stay focused; although currently I’m having a hard time figuring out how to do so…

But as my dad would say to me, “It’d kill an ordinary girl.”

Today was my last day at work.

I held it together until I got home and then I couldn’t hold it together anymore. So, I’m sitting on the couch home alone with my tears, eating chocolate. Hahaha. Ridiculous.

This makes my heart happy and sad at the same time. It’s precious.

Yes, occasionally I’m actually mushy and sentimental.

I’d like to announce my resignation…

No, not from blogging. From San Francisco. That’s right, I’m leaving. This is not a test or some cruel joke (although, at times it kind of feels like it is). This is me saying goodbye to you–you, being San Francisco. In exactly two weeks I will be back, living in Southern California.

It hasn’t hit me that this is actually happening; that’s probably why I haven’t said anything. I don’t even know where/what to start packing. I just don’t want to pack at all, because as soon as I start, it means this is really happening. Obviously I’m in denial. So I guess that’s why I’m writing this–the first step in moving is to admit you are moving, then comes the packing, etc. Right?

At least I’m not crying as I write this, ’cause for a while there every time I would think about it, I could feel the tears well up in my eyes and I would have to desperately try and push them back. This is especially embarrassing when it happens on the train or at work.

“I have to sneeze, that’s why my eyes are watering.” Yeah, right.

I don’t even feel anything as I write this…it’s just…surreal? I just want to hide out in my room for the next two weeks and see what happens. (But of course that’s not what I’m actually going to do!) So I’m going to leave it at that for now. I’ll get to the mushy/I love/miss you stuff later. I just don’t have it in me right now.

Thank you and goodnight.

Hustlin’, hustlin’. Everyday I’m hustlin’.

I’ve been in a mood…you know what I mean? I can’t seem to shake it either. I thought I had toward the end of last week, but it’s back…what to do…?

I can’t sleep. I mean, I sleep, but it’s not real sleep. My mind hasn’t shut down since…? Won’t shut down. I dream and then can’t remember if what happened was a dream or something that actually happened in my waking life. It’s a weird sensation. It happens every so often. I just want to sleep. Real sleep.

Aside from the usual suspects–school, finals, work, etc. I think I’ve made a decision that I’m not very happy with. That I wasn’t really ready for. That I kind of want to take back. It causes me little pangs of pain; teeny, tiny panic attacks. I really did think I would be fine, but maybe I’ve changed my mind. When did I become this kind of girl?

I apologize for being so cryptic. Sometimes I can’t decide if something is blog appropriate or personal journal appropriate? Maybe there’s no longer a difference? I want to talk about it, and I don’t. Mostly I just want it to go away.

Still waiting on that time machine…