Title: I tried - I did not.

I'm not thinking. I can't think. I'm wasting time and my consciousness by being self-aware and writing about it and EDITING about it to make it sound valid or comprehensible. My eyes start deceiving me by mistaking black with blue. My ears are drown in noises (cough cough grandma's loud TV and my own loud typing keyboard.) Self aware, annoyance to trifles and self-hatred, I can't even appreciate Golden hour song.

What's even the point in writing down my frustration if it doesn't hep anything? Oh, it helps clear my mind? It helps me release stress so that I can focus on other things with a clearer view? I don't find myself satisfied, only somewhat spent and exhausted. Blank. Void.

I don't write things as it's supposed to be, and I guess that's ok when you're only doing some therapy writing or shit. It's another problem when I want to use this as materials for my book and story though. I have to give readers the context, the background, the scenario.

Yet I don't find it in myself to care. I can publish this without editing one bit, making my jumbled thoughts and useless ideas known. Without the "this is for a future project" excuse. Without hiding behind a random, made-up character that doesn't even exist in my mind from the beginning.

Guess what? I wrote this in the doc that was supposed to be for an essay that I'd send to the Committee, for an application to a freaking international scholarship.

If I can't even... collect my thoughts, if I can't even think, and have a clear vision about my future right now, how am I supposed to finish the essay, to succeed at applying?

The songs have been switching to more and more low-key sad ones. Not that I mind, but I feel myself a bit too... carried away. The songs match the overall vibe, not the actual feeling. Do I even feel at this point? Maybe I'm only typing away my life right now out of habit. The habit formed by my fake excuse of "I need to do everything as fast and loud as possible to actually achieve something and be recognized." At this point I don't care.

Or do I care too much? I'm starting to think for what to write next. The moment a thought comes to my mind I write it down. Frantically. And then I try to edit everything to make sure they sound somewhat artistic. It still doesn't match my mind... I'm too inadequate to describe my thoughts.

Too meek and timid to speak my mind and express myself? I don't even have sufficient words and phrasing, the overall skills to communicate.

It looks like a random short essay alright.

Inadequate to be an actual essay, unsuitable to be a told story, insufficient to be a book. A chapter, even.

***

I'm blank again. Thinking of what to write again. Everything is just random self-degradation and self-criticism at this point.

I reached the end of the paper. Useless writing that wasted my time, efforts and materials. 

Just like me.