I got bad news three days prior to 2018.
My only hope at the moment to feel again that sparks of excitement that used to color my youthful self. My current every day’s daydream. They are broken to pieces.
I failed. So bad, I failed miserably.
As the information sunk in I strangely didn’t feel that sad about it. I was shocked, but I didn't feel hurt and I still am now. I let out a bitter laugh, wondering why life is being cruel to me once again while at the same time wondering why I don’t feel sad when I’m clearly disappointed.
Maybe I’m so used to failure that I am indifference about yet another failure.
Normally I’ll cry for at least an hour before I’ll get myself back and move on. This time I don’t shed a single tear when I failed on probably the most life-changing experience that might happen in my life if I could succeed it. Especially when I put a lot of time, money and efforts just for this dream.
Well, it’s a weird kind of feeling, to be honest. I wonder if I have to blame my recent addiction toward stoicism hence I react this way.
My heart feels numb. Does this somehow radical acceptance usually feels like this? But I guess, as long as I don’t cry and I don’t make people feel pity for me, I’m all good.
I’ll just soak in this feeling for a while.
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