My diary is an outlet in times of distress, a way of recording and reliving events (good or bad), and a method of figuring out what’s going on in this head of mine. For every happy entry, there are two or three contemplative entries. For every contemplative entry, there are five or six frustrated or upset entries. Reading it is like reading a 365 page book of every negative feeling I’ve ever experienced over the course of a year. Same goes with many of my blog entries, on MSN, LJ and Xanga. I used LJ as my diary because I could type faster than I could write, and there I recorded every relationship issue I had. I read it not so long ago, and it was just concentrated angst collected from months of pain. It left me feeling physically terrible. Going through my 2007 Diary made me feel almost as bad. My diaries are things to write in and never to be read.
What if he just stops caring?
This is something that genuinely worries me. I’ve noticed over the past couple of days a slight change in my attitude. I killed a mosquito and didn’t apologise to it. Little things like that have gotten me thinking- I’m no longer showing as much care about people’s problems. And I know it’s because I feel that I’ll have enough to deal with later in life. They played a video in one of my lectures about the typical life of a social worker- spend all day dealing with other people’s problems, trying as hard as you can, and sometimes it just doesn’t help. People get hurt, people hate you for it. And then you have to go home, get over it, and go back to work tomorrow. My lecturer for Communication Skills is a counsellor, and I genuinely believe she’s lost the ability to sympathise. She can show appropriate amounts of empathy at all times- she’ll always understand how you’re feeling, she just won’t feel it with you. That troubles me. If I continue on this path and have to deal with that many problems, will I just treat them all with the same distant "non-possessive love"? Will I be so cold, yet always willing to help? So… hollow?
The sheer magnitude of problems in the life of a single client is enough to overwhelm me. If I continue to walk the path I have chosen, my clients will be endless, and I’ll deal with as many as I can possibly fit into a day. I don’t know if I can take that…
These changes I have noticed are the start of something. I’m worried about my future. But I’ll finish the degree, at the very least. If, by the end of it, I haven’t learned how to avoid carrying everyone else’s problems as well as my own, without turning into an emotionless, unsympathetic asshole, I’ll be able to do something to change the lives of a few people. If I do spiral to my overwhelming doom, I guess I can say I had a dream…
Something I find intriguing: I may never allow myself to learn kenjutsu or any sword art, for fear that one day I’ll just walk down the streets of Perth cutting down everyone I meet. Irrational, but I can’t help but think, ‘just in case’.
This entry isn’t really going anywhere, but I can’t be bothered writing it by hand.
Note. I do not talk about my life. I refer to the hellish existence I have sustained for the past couple of days, particularly the last 12 hours or so. I have been ill, I have been stressed, I have lost much sleep, and today, it will all be over.