I used to be a passionate person. I was passionate about many things. Certain movies, people. Reading. God, I used to love reading. I would just absorb the words from the page and could imagine myself in the stories. It was exhilarating and enlightening. The people in the stories would become my closest friends as I read about them over and over again.
I feel like I have no passion now. I have no drive, no motivation. To do anything. I struggle to read the words that used to fill me with hope. I want to weep at the thought of facing the world another day. To put a smile on my face and pretend everything is okay. That I'm fine. Everything is dandy. Except it's not.
I sit and waste hours wallowing in my own misery. Wondering why I'm on this earth, what's my purpose? I thought studying would help lift me out of this gloom, but I feel like it's making me sink even deeper. I'm nowhere near the pit of doom that I was in a few years ago, thanks to strong family and friends who pulled me through. But there's something missing in my life. And I have no idea what it is.
What's keeping me going at the moment is the thought of escape. To make a fresh start. And I hope that my trip next year is going to be the kick start that I need. That it will refresh my mind, body and soul. That I will gain the strength to move out of this emotionally draining household. That I won't be alone forever.
I still have hope. And I'm clinging to it as if it's the last life jacket on a sinking ship. I guess in some ways it is.
