I have been feeling incredibly impulsive lately, and I can’t tell whether this is a good thing.
It all started when I saw a trailer for Paper Towns and decided that I want to be like Margo. I learned later that the moral of Paper Towns is that Margo is a selfish attention-seeker, so that’s awkward. But the desire to give zero fucks is still there.
I also find myself channelling the main character from Looking for Alaska (why is John Green derailing my life?). My girlfriend lent me the book in December and told me that she’d once had a crush on Alaska. Maybe this impulsivity is an attempt to be someone that I think my girlfriend will like more. But I think it’s more than that.
My desperate attempts to avoid anxiety are no longer killing me, but they are making me incredibly boring. I go to bed early; I stick to my budget; I colour-coordinate all of my outfits. I rarely say what I am thinking or do what I feel like doing because I am terrified of consequences and reactions and regrets and anything and everything all the time. When I am feeling impulsive, I feel alive. I feel like I can actually live my life and interact with the world in a way I can be proud of when I am on my deathbed. I feel the adrenaline that comes when I faced my fears, and it gives me hope and an ironic sense of peace.
I am falling asleep as I type, so the mechanics of my writing might be sub-par. But I think I am accurately explaining the way I am feeling, and that is good enough for me. There is no message in this post; I simply wanted to share these feelings and the mixed feelings I have towards them.
I always hate writing conclusions and I aim incredibly tired, so I am going to end this here.