Lethargy and Self-hate

It's like these past couple of days have been an emotional storm where my brain is being thrashed around in the confines of my skull. There's a hollow black part in the peripheral vision of my mind's eye. looking inside my head I am able to see my ideas ebb and flow and there's always been an almost tangible feeling of a surplus of thoughts. This past while when I retreat into my head, the blackness in the peripherals grows and swallows everything else. I'm left drowning in this darkness and I'm reminded of my lingering childhood fear of the dark. At night I'm too scared to close my eyes to have that blackness engulf my vision. I am 20 years old and I shake at the thought of sleeping without a hallway light on.

I am plagued with doubts: is this what I want to do? Do I really want to spend my life at school only to graduate then be thrown back into school again? How different is to be at the other side of the teacher's desk in the classroom? You're still being judged by snotty teenagers. I've never explored anything, done anything really spontaneous. Spontaneity and originality is me deciding to take a different bus then staring at the stops waiting to reach the right one. Spontaneity and originality is deciding to turn on my GPS location on my phone then blunder around only to give up and ask someone for directions because of my fear that somehow these directions are wrong. I am the most boring person. When I do have a new idea it is pushed down and pummelled until all that's left is a pulpy mess in my mind. It is swept into the blackness. I like to pretend that I am confident. I act it out pretty well. When people see me walking they see a proud Muslim woman who will not stand for injustice. I commit injustices against myself in my head multiple times a day.

The blackness is my waking nightmare. It's like this is a vacuum made of regrets, doubts, self-hate, and some ominous nothingness which gives voice to my new ShrugEverythingOff attitude. I remember when I used to look in the mirror to see a beautiful young woman staring back. She was even cheeky enough to wink back and laugh off the thought that there are little fairies inside mirrors with cameras who project an image back to us. Now the woman staring back has an aging hopelessness in her eyes juxtaposed against the face of a 15 year old. She doesn't feel confident. She doesn't feel beautiful. She feels ugly, hated, and disgusted with herself and how she has let this force dominate her. She gives in to fainting spells but is too scared to follow through with them and jolts awake before she flops to the floor.

I am a washed out version of myself. A photocopy that walks, talks, and acts like the old me. But on the inside I am a writhing slug letting acid eat away at its heart.