in my recent season of college applications, i’ve been finding great frustration at my lack of eloquence when it comes to preparing essays.
part of the blame can be credited to the daunting abstract prompts facing me, but a large part of the reality is likely my lack of recent exposure to great literature. my younger self found books to be magical. as a visual person, reading books granted me a ticket to a world of imagination. a simple concept, such as a starfish lying on a rock could take me into a world of cool aquamarine water glistening from the sun’s rays as waves rocked towards shore to kiss the golden yellow sand.
even as a high school student, i found nothing more exhilarating than to think introspectively at abstract essay prompts and write responses for no other eyes than my own.
but at some point, the joy of reading and writing was stolen from me. likely, there are a great number of contributing factors, but no number of reasons make me come to peace with this phenomenon. even now, i sit in front of my computer staring at a blank white word document labeled, “stanford,” and i’m puzzled by the overwhelming sensation given to me by absolute nothingness. i mean – truly. it is nothing. my progress is nonexistent. my goals are fictitious.
also, consumption of antidepressants/ssris used to make me feel nothing, but even after increasing my dosage by an additional 50%, i am emoting daily. emotions make me uncomfortable. feeling makes me anxious.
yet, for the sake of adopting a healthy sleep schedule and with a goal to decrease the prevalence of these torturous anxiety attacks, i wake up daily and throw my head back with a big gulp to get my pills and coffee down. then, i feel as though i can start the day. although, it’s purely symbolic since i don’t know if i can really feel the positive effects of these meds. sorry doctor d., i know i’m an impossible case.
here i am after wasting yet another rise of the sun because i am defeated by a mere string of words. these essay prompts induce some sort of thought process in my mind, but perhaps it is the cloud of depression and an overwhelming sense of anxiety that make my thoughts come to a halt as soon as my fingers touch the keyboard. it’s quite difficult to conclude, or even begin an essay when you seem unable to transform your thoughts into cohesive sentences.
the purpose of this rant is unknown, and i don’t feel even a smidge better after writing them out. i know i won’t proofread this, i know i will just go back to staring at my blank page after publishing this, and i know — nothing. to be honest, i know nothing. my brain autofilled that one for me, and i can’t think of anything truer.