Is This It?

I'm sick of being young and under educated. I can't wrap my arms around the world anymore. Last semester was my terrible one. My one lived in depression and disillusionment. I was a nineteen year old failed prodigy. Nothing in my life had turned out as I had always expected. I am the character in the story who forgets to laugh when his greatest plans and expectations go horribly awry. He forgets to laugh and forgets his soul. He wants to indulge himself in spiritual and social death. He becomes almost violently afraid of real and final death.
This semester I've relaxed considerably, becoming much less depressed and more sociable. I think I'm finally embracing the fact that life moves on. It only took about two and a half years. I was so stupid then; so susceptible to the pitfalls of emotion; mainly being caught up in a year and a half of denying that I felt anything for the situation for the first place, and finally embracing it only to find that closure was almost impossible at that point. I spent the next year thinking and moving away, becoming more myself than I've ever been before. Embracing Self. Not finding it capable of everything I want. Like discovering you have a body, and not being able to beat any but the invalids at a race, while certain you should be able to run a marathon.
I'm sick of people telling me I'm too impatient. I'm sick of compliments that I can't back up. Don't tell me I'm smart or good because once you say it, I know I'll never live up to that.
I'm sick of fashionable existentialism and popular philosophy.
Life and death are dealt in the details, and I want to drink it all in, and throw it up.
I am new but not strong. I never have time, and somehow it's better that way. Too busy to think. Too busy to be lazy; to put off work in favor of daydreams and porn.



I need sleep and satisfaction, I fear I shall see little of either tonight.