Painful Limbo (College anxiety)

When did I start bottling up my pain so utterly and completely instead of letting it out? In the past at least I felt some urge to tell someone about my pain. I don't now. I accept all the pain I feel, like a black hole who sucks in pain and never needs to put any out. I accept it all and don't tell anyone. 

I think part of it is that I'm stronger now and I'm better at handling my own pain. I don't need to dump it on people to feel validated and organize my thoughths anymore. That's good, supposedly. But there's something about the idea of silently swallowing all of my pain and going on - disconnected from the web of emotions that bind us - that gives me a sense of tragedy. I'm an outsider, a foreigner, closed off, strings broken. I'm failing to share in the experiences of humanity, the ever flowing river of dialogue, of feelings, of thoughts. By closing myself off, by others closing themselves off, the river grows narrower and more arbitrary, more fake. The downfall of an individualistic society. I feel disconnected from those around me, and when I cast out looking for something to love, I find no one in the empty void but myself. I don't feel so lonely when I'm in a better mood. I've gotten more social and I've been able to strike up conversations with many people, and make many connections. But I feel in the end that they are all abritrary, that I'm unimportant to them. After all this time I'm still the same person who can't love or form deep connections, and has become even more wary of doing so after the fiasco of my relationships, and the betrayal I've felt. 

How can I ever form connections when the idea of opening up to others feels so foreign? Even now when I'm in deep pain I close off like it's natural to me, I retreat deep into my hermit crab's shell and find it within myself to heal. It's what I've learned to do, it's how I know how to heal. Even now I only write these things in journals that are public yet I know no one will see. I'm shouting into the void, leaving a memory of myself that no one will remember. I only can write because I know no one will read. Yet deep down I long for people to see me, read what I say, see what I make, appreciate me, talk to me, love me. 

It's been a solemn couple days, which has led to where I am now. It's shark week and my weekly schedule has been overrun by anxiety again - overwhelming anxiety which swallows my school days and leaves nothing behind but stress struggle and regret. I can't think of anything but school and what I haven't finished yet, and even when I'm finished I can only think of the next thing I'll have to do, unable to rest, unable to relax in the interim. That is the anxiety that consumes me on bad weeks, which have been most weeks, and it makes me forget to even eat, to drink water, it's a single minded determination that spawns anti-determination, willpower from lack of willpower, self sabotage from an attempt at salvation. It's the devil itself and yet I'm drawn to it inexplicably. So that's why I'm sitting here at 10:23 PM, just starting on my architecture assignment, being behind by two days. Unable to sleep yet craving sleep, loathe to work yet wanting to work, stuck in limbo. Constant limbo defines this state. 

Maybe it's best to work for say an hour and then go to bed.