3 years of not studying has reverted me back to third grade level

As I type this, my eyes are puffy and red and I have a
sulky look on my face. My text books lie to my left.
They appear to be leering at me.

My body is twisted away,facing the laptop.

I am just calming down after a temper tantrum the
likes of which I haven't seen since I was 13.

Will I be threatened by a bunch of textbooks that are
just a pile of pages with writing on them, i ask
myself?
yes, i reply to myself.

It seems that I am de-maturing, a process which hurts
more than learning ones time tables off by heart
(another memorable tantrum day) and is more
humiliating than puberty.

I turn the pages in my notes, they are worn and weak
where the pre-punched holes were. They remind me of my
nerves, paper-thin and damaged. Rude words decorate
almost every page, accompanied by flying fantastical
pig beings whose lines are twice emphasised.

I present myself as a soul in torment, passionately
trembling before my desk, nearly tearing up my notes
and longing for that satisfying crrrr sound as they
leave their safe little evil haven of the binder
without me popping the little sharp circles open.
will they resist? I hope they will. It will give me
more excuses to shout.

This is my therapy. My mind is too upset to return to
the frustrating story sums in the lazarus language. I
wonder where all my patience has seeped to.
Maybe the tips of my fingers...they're extremely
patient with the television remote control.

It's been a long time

I'm supposed to be studying now.

My usual line.

I'm doing the psychometry test for reasons that sound
good but for no reason of actually wanting to do
it.The studying for it has also helped me gain a new
level of not wanting to learn.

I want to be more like Ele, so open and willing to
learn. I think i used to be like that once, but I seem
to have built a disinterested and apathetic and
protective wall around myself. I feel so jaded
sometimes. It's probably the result of too much tv.

For all the people that this post depresses, I 'm not
sorry. It makes me feel better to talk about it than
to live it. Or does it?
Don't read it if it depresses you.