Escaping.

These past few weeks have been pretty uneventful. I feel myself getting sucked back into a poisonous routine that I hate so much.

I wake up. I shower. I do my makeup. I do my hair. I get dressed. I go to work. I eat lunch. I work some more. I go home. I read. I sleep.

On good days I will go to my boyfriend's house, and I will fix him supper and we will binge watch a television show on Netflix.

On bad days I come home and stare at the ceiling and think about every opportunity I've missed from being afraid or broke.

Vicious cycle, I'm still in one.

I remember a few years ago, especially when I was in college, I felt like the days lasted longer, the sun was brighter, I felt better.
Now the days fly by and have no meaning, and I wish I could just sleep through them, or read fictions to escape my reality.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Why can't I be happy like everyone else? I've been waiting all this time to start my life, but I can't seem to find the key.

I want out. I want out of it all.