My roommate is practicing the drums right now. I actually find it soothing, even if he'll never be good enough to be in a bad band. I know it gives him happiness, and, well, isn't that what we all wish for our friends?
I find a lot of things to keep my mind occupied. I read. A lot. Mostly online blogs of the political sort, as well as skeptics and stalking some extremely hot skepchicks in particular. I read newspaper articles from around the world.
It's just a stall. The thoughts catch up to me. And they go around and around in their circular way. Does anyone really know what it's like to work so hard just to be "functional"? And barely functional to boot?
I'm a disgrace to living. It shouldn't be like this. I should be able to get up each day and greet life head-on. I spend so much effort playing catch-up that my contribution to society is spotty, at best.
I have my friends. Their lives are changed for the better from knowing me. At least, that's the observable evidence presented to me. The darker thoughts, well, they're not so sure of this assertion.
My start was bright, my rise astronomical. Everything I put my mind to, I excelled at. Except chemistry and sports. Don't ask me why.
My fall was meteoric, too. I soon became overwhelmed with the simplest tasks, and every failure left me at a lower level that I never rose from again.
I got a second chance. Yay, go me! I wasted it. I moved too fast, wanted too much. Now, my second chance is going to hell, and I'm left floundering. Rarely does anyone get a third chance.
So, how do I fix my current situation, before I completely waste my second chance? I have some theories, but, man!, they're hard, grueling work. I'm terrified. I've worked hard in the past, but never this hard. And I have to change my life drastically.
And therein is my embarassing shame: I'm scared of hard work. I'm scared of change. I'm convinced that failure from not trying is better than failure from trying.
It's all stupid, and defeatist. I know this. Still, the fears persist.
I'm not brave. I'm reckless and self-destructive, and that can look like bravery. Still, I am not brave.
So what is the means of getting bravery? Can I really look deep inside myself and find it? Or am I doomed to a life of being a chicken-shit?
I've said I was going to fight before in this diary. That was all false bravado. I don't really know what I'll do.
There's something I want to do: Find a lap, lay my head down in it, and cry like there's no tomorrow. Support when I'm at my weakest makes me feel better. Sometimes, afterwards, the fears are gone for a little while. It's a temporary solution, though. The fears return, and I once again have to face my own cowardice. Still, in that time, I can often make some positive steps.
What I need is bravery. I will go on a quest for it. Wish me luck, voyeurs and voyeurettes.