It’s 2:30AM and I’m struggling with how to put into words what the last three months have been like. I don’t think it’s something I can just sit down and write about all at once because I feel as though I’ve come to realize more things in the past 90 days than I have the previous 22 years. I’m making mistakes, huge ones, daily and that’s okay. I think what’s happened the last three months can’t be explained in one blog post, knowing me it’ll be sporadic pieces I write in moments where I feel inspired… or probably hopeless. To be completely honest to myself, it’ll probably be hopelessness that drives these posts because as much as I try to keep this facade that I’m happy, it’s getting harder to do every day. My life is falling apart and I need to pick up the pieces. When I turned 22 I immediately tore my life apart, purposely, just to see what it would be like to lose control. Unfortunately, I found out that I’m not the person I thought I was. I’m not the organized, studious, and driven Cindy I’ve come to know. That’s who Emily wanted me to be, so it’s who I became. She molded me for four years, and eventually I couldn’t take it. I’m spontaneous and unorganized and unsure of what the future holds and that’s fucking okay.
This blog has no purpose. I’m still unsure if it will be something I share publicly or keep as a diary of my own. There is a fear of judgement from my peers because I left my scholarship because I’m unsure of what I want in life at this moment. All around me everyone and everything is driven by materialistic and monetary objects, which have never really held any value with me. I’m struggling to find purpose in life, in education, in anything other than this made up concept of money. I’m just trying to find my purpose in the grand scheme of things, because without it I can’t be happy.