I don’t feel like I fully exist; I feel unformed, like a sculpture molded by clumsy hands and then abandoned for better efforts. I think I’ve felt this way for a while. I don’t fit in anywhere, but I can no longer avoid the fact that I have stopped trying to fit in, to be liked. I have allowed myself to be absorbed into my own mind. I’m never fully present, and sometimes I don’t even bother pretending that I am. The signs have become familiar to everyone who knows me: noncommittal answers, a sagging head during class, the glazed look I can feel my face forming when I start to succumb to the same old cycle of the same old thoughts.

I know this is unhealthy, but I don’t try to change it. If something makes me feel bad, I don’t say anything. I don’t say, for instance, “I really want to cry right now, and I don’t know what to do.” I don’t say, “I’m still in love with you.” I don’t talk about any of my feelings, really.

I have become so hyperaware of my own insignificance that I can easily let it drag me down. I no longer document moments of my life. This is all making me sound more miserable than I am. Things are just strange. ♦