My ten journal entries are far more than what I expected them to be. I expected to just write an entry every day and bullshit the whole thing, simple, right? Well, I went above and beyond even what I expected from myself. I didn't write just a handful of journal entries, I didn't just write a bunch of things I had to write for an assignment. I really let myself go with this menial project. I truly upheld the first rule of writing, by William Forrester (Sean Connery). "The first key to writing is to write, not to think. You write your first draft with your heart, and you rewrite with your head." That I did, Mr. Forrester, That I did. Each time I wrote, I imagined the primary emotion of the whole day building up inside me to the point where I had no choice but to let it out, and I did so via the keyboard below my fingertips.
Each one of my journal entries is it's own chapter in a story I write about the two weeks of my own personal metamorphosis, my discovery of my own personal identity. I would've found it eventually, but this assignment really did speed up the process. When I started this assignment, I was stressed as fuck. My depression was hitting me head on, and I found no way to escape. By the middle of the whole thing, I felt ready to kill myself, I felt ready to die. Finally, at the peak of all that, it was as if my body would shut down, each individual cell simultaneously, and in a way, yes, I died.
My final blog post detailed my emergence as a new man. The post about my love life sucking was in the aftermath of my death. The old me died when I ceased to care about school. Stress suddenly found itself unable to afflict me. I was untouched by my paranoia, which without the ability to feed off my stress, slowly decayed. I felt refreshed, I felt anew, I feel confident now. My productivity has almost hit rock bottom, but my self-esteem has skyrocketed. I wrote about my shitty love life because that was the only thing, the only thing, that ever serves to stress me out. I no longer care for the schoolwork, it can't make me nervous, but my crush can, even when I but see her from an entire hallway away. I didn't know then that my love life was the only sorrow I could write about, as the others I was freed from the burden of.
My technique for writing, the one thing I have done to augment the quality of these posts, was not to think, but to feel. I've always bashed emotion, saying it's merely a distraction, but it's so much more. Emotion is my tool, how I write, I don't revise any of these. Everything you see here, if I don't disagree with it in the mere ten seconds I spend on it, it stays. Everything here is what I feel. Ironically, my greatest strength in writing can also serve as my greatest weakness. As I said, emotions are a distraction. Think of the new BBC Sherlock TV show. They were great in the beginning, Moffat really pulled through, but not anymore. My mom described the new series as "good, but they're kinda drunk on their own fame"
I carry the same flaw. My weakness is when I write to outdo myself. Whenever I write, I have to remember to write. I can't think, I can't try and be better than everything I've done, I have to do what I can, and just that. My sin is pride, but hey, I'm actually a fan of all seven.
My current state, my new regeneration, was an accelerated result of the fires I was subjected to. I have become in one year what I would've become in several. I am carefree, unburdened. Whatever I do in school I'm never forced to do, everything I do is of my own accord. If I want to do it, I'll do it. If not, then I won't. The days of my life, in the most stressful time of this year, have been so uplifting, I have discovered inner peace, my own inner peace, and nobody can take me down. Even if my crush were to actively reject me, I would still walk away empowered, knowing that despite my failure, I at least took the initiative and conquered what I've always feared, what I've never been able to cease caring about (speaking of, I'm debating whether to utilize my new-found confidence to say her name right now, as I do know she reads these, and let her put two and two together. What the hell, it's hidden).
I do remember that night, that night of the blog post where I'd gone to bed having enough. I didn't want to live, I wanted to die, despite my own personal disfavor towards ending my own life. I could only sleep. I woke the next morning, not wanting to check my phone for the daily scoop on the front page of Reddit, not wanting to get up, not wanting to even listen to music. All I wanted to do was lie there and stay there. I stayed there, all right, and I realized how much I didn't care. I was in the present, and I wouldn't take any more shit from anyone. I now exist having run out of fucks to give. At any moment I could fly. I live in the present now, I am truly free.
Word count (because it's somehow required): 1026, because as I said, screw the limit
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