frugal

i wake up, get dressed. my clothes glaringly noticeable in their simplicity.
make it to class just in time. take my seat. left side of lecture hall, second row from the back. between a guy who couldn't care less; and a girl who used to care enough, before she met someone who took that part of her away from me.

i sit through class. mostly making notes, but also doodling and writing on the back pages of my notebook. those scribbles mark my days, my ways.

after class, i rush through the crowd, ahead of everyone who might catch up with me and ask questions. they stream into the mess, in twos and threes, but by then I'm already eating at a table in a far corner. as far away as possible. I'm done by the time they're half through.

i stay attentive in class though. its my escape from the world. for even though they're all around me, they cannot talk to me.

once the day is over, i enter the sanctuary of my room. its a depressing mess on most days. things that remind me of what my life should be are strewn all over the bed. books, journals, eye makeup, swimsuit, random Cd's.

i run from my room as soon as i can. go out into the evening with earphones on. escape into music. sometimes i head out towards the library, where the enforced silence allows me to not make eye contact with anyone. i read, I'm lost in the words. they're making no sense to me because I'm concentrating on the phonetics. what they sound like in my head. entire sentences go by before i realise whats happening.

i feel like I'm breathing under water. like there's no need to come up for air. everything is blurred by that watery medium. there are no blacks, whites, or greys. only shades of blue exist.

food turns into something devoid of taste. something medicinal, whose function remains to sustain, without giving pleasure. i don't care what i eat anymore. but i go to the mess twice a day. thrice if I'm awake.

I'm grateful to the people who make the effort to talk to me. the people i used to be close to, part of my inner circle, but not anymore. i make an attempt to try and seem normal, OK. sometimes i feel like sharing, but then i realise its pointless. I'd have to explain too much of that which i cannot even explain to myself, let alone to anyone else. i let it go.

i let go.

i make sure I'm tired by the time i enter my room again. i cant stand to see the broken bits of my past lying around me, so i turn off the lights as soon as i can.

i sleep a dreamless sleep. until i wake up in the morning and do the same thing over again.

what is hope? where will i find it?