For the past few months, I've been trying so hard to write something I like. Around this time last year, I was writing every day, words seemed to flow from my fingers and I generally liked the product. Sometimes it was sappy, sometimes it went over peoples' heads, sometimes it was a bit nonsensical... but it was something, and it made sense to me. Now, I feel as though I have nothing to share but shit. Complete and total shit. I know it bothers people; especially my closest friends (population of which is decreasing every minute). Here goes another vain attempt though: a shot at making things the way they used to be.

It seems that I'm constantly worrying about something these days. Wake up, take a shower... middle of shower: remember Melanie. Worry about some assignment for class that I half-did at the last minute... wait until the very last second to totally finish it. Notice the most aggravating traits in my professors (and my friends, and everyone I meet). Hate self for noticing these things. Continue stressing out about grades. Remember Melanie. Watch some silly Youtube video and wonder if Melanie ever saw it. We used to like the silliest things... Think about new friends, smile about the good ones (...is there more than one? I know they are few) and then realize that I'll probably fuck it up anytime now, anyway. Always the same: sense some glimmer of hope, find it just in time to lose it. I want to be different; I hate the person I'm becoming, but I keep ending up back in the same slump.

More than anything, I'm worried that I'm pushing everyone away... by either shutting them out, or simply annoying the shit out of them. No matter what anyone says to make themselves feel better, life isn't worth living unless it is shared in one way or another. And I am alone.