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Disheartened


Invisible Princess

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28/9/16

Disheartened - to depress hope, courage or spirits of;

Disheartened. A word with a simple, and understandable definition. So why does it feel so complicated? Why do I keep seeing it looming around every corner I turn? Why won't it go away... Until this point in life I don't think I could say I've ever had this feeling feel quite so prominent. But whatever problem I face up to it seems to play the disheartened card its had banked for years but has been unable to use due to my 'understanding buffer'. However, that buffer seems to have gone past its expiration date, and as for a replacement, it's nowhere to be seen. The discovery of a word that perfectly describes your feelings isn't something that happens everyday. 

I don't know where I'm going with this, so as per usual you've resorted to the only thing you know, mind dumping on the page, why do you think any admission tutor wants to read your persanal statement, you should rename it personal ramble on consiousness-see straight into my mind, an insight to my messed up thought process. Once again you tried your hand at writing, and you failed. You seem to be making a habit of that recently, you should probably do something about that. Oh wait! You tried that, and that's what led you here, to this place. A place of hatred. A place of nothingness, and pointless activity. A place where you hate yourelf, and waste you time, thereby adding to the self hatred. Once again you reference the circular arguments and vicious circle of thoughts you have but never do anything about. You wonder why you can't talk to anyone, if you would ever show anyone this, but most importantly you suddenly realised exactly how writing in the third person is related to your feelings. You do it because you know you would never be able to say any of these things with 'I' at the start of the sentence. You could never pluck up the courage to talk to anyone, ask for help, accept that there may be something wrong. Even as you write these words you doubt yourself, the things you are writing, but continue anyway, you wonder if this is a weird, stupid form of self harm, that perhaps you're continuing to write because you want to hate yourelf, feel reason to fail. But all these things are excuses. Excuses for your stupid, and honestly immature behaviour. Excuses for your poor work ethic and lack of dedication. But even the briefest flicker to those words 'work ethic' and suddenly you're transported back to a room that doesn't exist anymore, but the people with you, you still see almost everyday. Somehow whenever she speaks to you, you don't have flashbacks to that day, the day she made you lock yourself in a bathroom stall and cry. The day you told everyone you were fine, even though the words hurt, but thats what you do everyday, except on some days the only person you're lying to may be yourself. Even now you can't accept it, you have to insert the word 'may' because you don't know if you're ok, you think you're not but you think you are. You don't ever want to talk about being not ok, so the only other option is to be ok. So thats what you do. You stop rambling, and carry on with the task in hand. Revise some more, do more than last year, fail anyway.

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