August 11th, 2024 — 6:29 PM

Content Warning: A LOT of self-loathing. Sorry.

I've been feeling stagnant.

Are "August Blues" a thing? There's a plethora of things it could be; a multitude of factors that weigh down on my sore shoulders. Atlus with the Earth, Sisyphus and his boulder, Prometheus and the eagle.

Impoverished, subdued, I feel no joy or excitement in the day to day, and as the start of my meaningless semester looms over my head with each passing second, everything feels heavy. Maybe I'm stir-crazy, driven to madness within my constant four walls. Can home be a prison? It feels like it. But the heat is so oppressive, the gas prices are too high, there's nowhere to go, nothing to do. My parents are constantly busy, so visiting them has even become a chore. My partner, honey dearest, is my only friend and companion, but even that becomes tedious when there is nothing to say or do. Want to watch a movie? Want to watch a show? Watch watch watch. The TV mocks me, my computer screen burns my eyes, my phone is shackled to my wrists. I'm surprised I even know what day of the week it is anymore.

I'm so painstakingly lonely. I have no local friends—I am an afterthought to my partner's friends. I'm an obligation. With his bright eyes and easy-going smile, able to strike up a conversation with even the most dour of faces, he is golden and I am dull. I've been scorned by so many people I've once known, faces I mourn for I know that I'm no better; I've done my fair share of scorning. I think most about the people who were the worst for me, people who were unpredictable and moody, constantly breaking apart in front of me and begging me to fix them—am I so terrible to miss that type of dependency? To be needed and wanted? I know I am loved, even if it's not by many. But I need my partner, I need my parents. I don't think they really need me, they just love me enough to have and to hold me.

What happened to my drive? That wonderful, aching desire to create? Staying up till 5AM drowning in code, in my own writing? It's like I finished my latest writing project and...lost it all. And it's not as if I don't have things to do—I have so many things I need to work on for this Neocities page. Notebook pages full of ideas for my next, and next, and next writing ventures with my OCs. A needlepoint work in progress begging for me to continue. Where did it go? It's not as if I'm not still staying up till 5am, reading books on my phone, forgetting to eat and sleep and talk. Rotting in my bed. Anymore the simple act of sitting upright makes me exhausted.

I'm so tired. I sleep all day and I am still so, so tired.

My birthday is in 16 days. I don't know what I want more: everyone to remember, or everyone to forget.