pattern

Let's stop being indirect. I am hating my life right now. Absolutely hating it.

At one point, I thought I could love it. That was when I was new to JC and everything was sparkly and novel and fascinating. Now I'm used to it. It's become cyclic and tiring. And it's so futile. At the end of each week, I only come to the realisation that there is yet another week beginning tomorrow: another week of fighting to meet expectations, another week of keeping away from people I'll never like, another week of having my heart broken and then mended to be broken again. Always the same.

And every time I finish a piece of homework, finish a part of a project, I cannot feel any accomplishment for it--because finishing that merely means I can finally move on to the next. Every time I try to relax, there comes an overwhelming guilt that I'm not doing the work I should be doing, something that completely nullifies whatever comfort I thought I'd gain from resting.

I want this to stop. If this is what life will be from now till I die, why am I living it?