I don't think I like myself anymore. I'm becoming a person that I can't stand to be around, one that I almost detest. I'm not fun to hang out with. I don't smile or laugh like I used to. I'm less interesting, as I only talk about one thing (two if you count my health paranoia, a by-product of the first thing). I can't fall asleep easily and I'm exhausted upon waking. I'm back to the fucked up dreams I had when my father first died, the bloody ones that make me shiver throughout the day and shut my eyes against them, until I realize that they are in my head. I can't focus at my job and haven't returned phone calls in a few days. I want to have sex but I can barely focus when I get home, much less feel excited about being in my disgusting body (read: anxious mind). And today is the first day I've worn my hair curly since Saturday. I just can't be bothered with life right now.
I'm not excited by my opportunities, because I don't feel like I have any. All this waiting has dampened any sense of joy about my future. I can see that I'm applying the problem with one fucking university to my entire life, and I cannot stop it, nor do I even want to. Maybe if I let it permeate everything that I am and I know, I'll just be able to ride with it, instead of fight it every step of the way. If I am accepted, I expect to feel no joy from it. Relief, yes. Relief from the cessation of being dicked around for the last month and a half. But no joy. I'm not excited about it. I care so much that I barely care anymore. Instead of relishing the program and the experiences, I see it as a means to an end. If I go there, I bet you infinity zillion dollars that I'll be biting my tongue and biding my time to get through it rather than be in it. I cannot win.
And so I ask myself, is all this worth it? Is anything worth it? And if I don't get in, or if I just never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever find out either way, what the hell else am I going to do? I barely have interests any more. And the ones I do have (knitting and sewing, thank you very much) can't support me. Maybe I just become marginally employed. Underemployed. Be somebody's dumb assistant and just take what comes. Who cares? I feel worthless at this point. I'll work my part-time job on the weekends and then just find another part-time job and be one of those brilliant 26-year olds (I just had to stop and think, how old am I? Today I feel like I'm 87) who wound up wasting away their capacity. Yup, that'll be me. Wallowing in my self-pity and self-anger and fucking self-righteousness.
Again, I say to the world, fuck you, Hunter. You can kiss my heartbroken ass.