I can’t even think how it feels like to stand on the edge of a cliff, with the view of deep waters below waiting to consume me… because I’m definitely going to wee on myself out of fear. If it isn’t adequately explicit, I’d like to reiterate that I do have a huge issue with heights and falling–surely enough an excuse for a grown woman to behave like a two-year old.
That is also not one of the methods I would choose to die, if I have the right for a last request.
Despite the lack of imagination, I had no idea why I constantly feel like I am on the verge, fighting the fear so I could take the plunge and just end all these bullshit ritual I had to go through in life. The horror is still there to keep me at bay, but I definitely can sense it is weakening lately. Or rather, my mind is playing tricks on me saying that the waters aren’t as deep as I thought, as much as the fall would only terrify me for a second. It’s almost as if it’s telling me the last thing I will feel is not regret, but relief.
Then another voice would tell me that it’s probably because I literally relieved myself. I would shake my head, cringing, repeatedly telling myself I ain’t leaving the world with peeing in my pants as the last thing I’m gonna be caught doing. Nu’uh.
Yet I should say, the intervals where the whole thought process goes has been increasing recently, as I tried building up the “motivation” (red. rush of panic) to write my thesis. Quite clearly, it doesn’t function well as an incentive as I simply don’t give the tiniest shit about the question of “what then” anymore. What to do now to be able to do next, what I need and want to do–they all seem equally pointless.
Believe me, I tried sleeping early and waking up early, triggering the rush, omitting all distractions, cutting the workload to achievable targets, self-shaming and scaring myself with imagined scenarios of things I wouldn’t like to happen had I not finished the bloody piece of pretentious bullshit to get a meaningless degree I am not even sure I need or want on the first place… and then I went back to square one, blaming myself for giving in to my idiotic impulse without even considering if I am capable enough for the whole schooling process as well as the diploma. I probably am just causing inconveniences to my advising professors and fellow students in class, even by trying. Not to mention this very ramble would probably offend those who are genuinely committed graduate students–I am truly sorry and ashamed for sharing the same status without possessing similar merits.
Oh, and letting these out of the system does not help this time. Even worse, I broke down in front of my faraway parents on a stupid call the other day–now they wouldn’t fucking take my bullshit about being ‘okay’ anymore, worrying about me more than parents normally would, which is already a lot. Brilliant. A cherry on top of a shitload of anxiety and depression scoops.
Mildly put, I ran out of ideas to make myself functional. My cold feet holding me back from taking the leap as the voice of reason within me seemingly hibernating, preventing me to conceive hysteria nor any good feeling to operate.
God Almighty, just… why? Even lamenting like this makes me feel more a whiny moron than before. Great job on oversharing again, bloody typical millennial.
At least please let the thought of me weeing myself be an effective deterrent, suppose it keeps me from answering the call of the void.