/lit/ - Literature

>>20768851
I'd like to confess certain past life circumstance of mine, that in years since it ending I haven't yet been able to really express and confer with anyone meaningfully and still comes to my mind all the time. You will almost certainly find it uninteresting or even boring, frankly I'll be suprised to get any answers at all. But if you're here, you probably know that thoughts and feelings make more sense when they undergo process of being written down, so even then it will be time spent well. I will first give broad overview of circumstances in more objective terms and then try to explain the sensation of it.
Few years ago I've graduated my highschool (which was very interesting and defining period on its own, but I don't want to digress) and time has come for me to go to uni. I didn't really know what I want to do with myself. I till don't know, far as I'm concerned, so it was more momentum thing, even though back then my interest in subject matter was few magnitudes stronger. I've picked de facto second best business uni around here, and also purposefully the one furthest away from my hometown, usually about 8 hours away by train, few rare courses managed it in 4-5. I sent myself there basically completely on my own, all HS friends and cliques went to other cities.
As somewhat stereotypical not hugely social loser, I have very fast failed to make it into broader social spheres on uni. Thorough that experience I had total of one close friend I've made there, and I have kind of unceremoniously dumped him after it ended. I still feel bad. I enjoyed reasonably ok living standards, found spacious, but low standard flat entirely to my own. To keep things short, I've fast become social shut-in. Just social, because while I didn't become a fan of the city, I used to really walk a lot around it, increasingly so around late hours. I especially liked big local park/cementary. Many will jump to calling me very stereotypical and pretentious doomer, while I never identified with it or any other subculture, I guess they could be correct. In any case, my mental health fast and hard crashed down (Ironically it was time when I browsed /lit/ most and my interest in literature peaked). I would barely even have anyone to talk to, my speech has over course of months devolved to whispering mumbling, though I realize it might be hard to imagine. During that time, few times I went through what was likely mental breakdowns. That's not to say there weren't some happy moments here and there.
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