Firstly, I love you guys. A lot.
But seriously: please stop asking me if I’m okay. I’m failing my degree. Failing. That means no more Dean’s Merit List, no more postgraduate anything, no chance of the scholarships or bursaries I lost the last time I was failing a degree. That means I’m done. My glass is empty.
So when you see me and say, ‘Wow, you look terrible: are you okay?’ I’m pretty fucking sure you know as well as I do, and as well as everyone who’s happened to catch a glimpse on the shadow-like persona I’ve become these last two weeks knows, no. Actually, I’m not okay.
The only places I want to be right now are under a table or under a boy. Seeing as I am now officially broke after a serious of unfortunate and expensive mistakes, the table is not happening. Due to the fact that I’m apparently cold and unlovable, the boy thing is looking unlikely also.
In short, don’t ask me how I am. Clearly, that isn’t making it better.
Give me a break, before I break