Halfway through winter term in first year, I decided to start keeping a journal. For the first while, I put in all the great events that had happened to me, since I wanted to make it a journal of cheerful memories. I found myself writing quite a few times last academic term. I stopped in the summer. I don't really know why, but probably because it was all just really boring and nothing really happened. I got back into it once school started again, but I find that I haven't been writing as much, partly because I haven't had as much time this year, but mostly because I don't know what to write. The past few entries haven't been very cheerful and revolve a lot around a lot of self discovery, a lot of things that I'd found out about myself since moving away from home and from high school. Things that, deep down I already knew, but couldn't really face.
Most of all, I just don't like things much anymore. I used to love cooking and baking. I used to love writing. I used to love sleeping. I used to love just being around people and laughing. I used to love caring about other people.
Not so much any more. Some of the people I know think I'm cynical and morbid, but I just don't really care for much any more. I still do all of the above, but with less enthusiasm. That second last one? I do it now because I have to. Most times, I like to lock myself in my room and chill in solitude. Sure, I know it's terrible, but I don't see myself making any real effort to come out and make plans with others. And that last one. I had an entire entry about caring, but I couldn't care to post it. Who really cares anyway?

Argh. I feel so blah, constantly.