I know in general, I'm a very sarcastic person. Some people might call me a misanthrope, but I'd like to think that' s a little too rough for what I do. Some people might call me a cynic. That might be a little more accurate. At least I have a good sense of humor.
These last few weeks I've been very....stuck. I'm tempted to call it almost a species of depression, though I know that's both untrue and inaccurate. I myself might say I'm bitter - but that still doesn't name the feeling correctly. I guess the most truthful way I can name it is that I've been having a hateful week. A "Peter" week. At least, a certain side of Peter - the tortured Russian author side.
It's not a new feeling. It's not a new process. It's helped make me who I am, I'm sure of it. But it's the first time it's really hit like this since I've been at college. Maybe it's just a vague manifestation of some subconscious homesickness? I feel like this time it's different - like I'm caught in the near inescapable bubble of hedonism and self-conscious pleasure-patrolling that is college - and I'm trying to burst it from the inside out. In fact, there's a good chance I'm just exaggerating that unsympathetic ambivalence now that I'm thinking and writing about it. But hey, what better way to quantify irrational feeling than with superexpressive words and such pitifully colorful language as is sure to follow?
More than I hate to be around those kind of people, I hate to be around myself when I'm vulnerable. That's a new thought - didn't hit me until just before I wrote it, actually. I hate to see that I'm still so easy to spark, and I hate to see my raw disregard for anything and everybody else hurt me first. I hate to see that I can still fall just as fast as everyone else - like the dumb "sheep" that we all are. I hate to see Peter struggle to be Peter.
....But at least I'm known for something.
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Now playing: Hillsong - You Are My Strength
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