Daily Habits and My Little Bitten Nail Collection
Lately, I developed a strange loss of appetite.
The past week has been uncomfortably hotter than usual - both in terms of the year as well as the daily temperature. I am not sure if that is the cause, or if it is the increasing pace of life of late, but near the evening, I feel so nauseated at the thought of food that I end up skipping supper. It is not as if I have been eating exceptionally or unusually large meals during the day. In fact, I have been eating breakfast, so my metabolism should be boosted, and I should subsequently be hungry for supper.
But for some reason, come 5pm or 6pm, even food items I have loved seem so - unappetizing. So much so that I avoid them and the kitchen until hours pass. Then, come later in the night, I feel shaky and dizzy. Knowing the physiological effects of not eating for more than four hours - but still not really feeling hunger - I eat a bowl of some sort of fruit. I feel better afterwards, but I feel no satisfaction from hunger (that which had not been present before anyway) but also no uncomfortable distension of being overly full.
I simply feel ... an absence of feeling.
I am quite sure this is not normal.
It is not as if I have lost the ability to be hungry. I can feel hungry during the day - for lunch or for breakfast even. I have always been a biological failure at sensing my hunger, often not realizing it until I am literally reeling from weakness.
I surmise that this can be either due to the pace of my busy-ing life of late or some sort of deep-seated stress. I have always been a chaser after productivity and full schedules. The inevitable consequence is that I leave out time for eating. I find that while I do not despise food, I also do not feel particular excitement/anticipation for it either. I enjoy the foods I like (though that may be a small and few selection already), but I do not usually seek them out. Or seek out potentially good-tasting novelty.
To be honest, I am not sure what I am stressed about at this point in time. Sure, I have been unsettled and somewhat unhappy ever since the incident with him (that forceful intervention to tear a gap between him and I), bur I figured I already bawled my eyes out in private enough. Sure, there had been that nagging sense of dissatisfaction of wanting to accomplish more, utilize more of my time, prepare more upcoming life events, but it was nothing out of the ordinary.
I am a worrier.
I worry.
And in the unstoppable rate tearing of each page of the day, it becomes clearer and more realistic - the implications of the start of medical school. This may seem like a silly and immature concern, but at the age of twenty-two (soon twenty-three), I still feel a child in mind. I fear that perhaps my maturity is not on par that is required of a good physician. I worry that I may not grow up in time to be a good physician.
Sometimes, I feel like I can never grow up. I am just a child chasing after this big - dream of mine. Dreaming to help other people. Dreaming to stand alone in my own judgment. Dreaming, dreading, that one day, the weight will be all on my shoulders.
Independence is not something I am not unfamiliar with, but I had always had someone to rely on or inquire advice when I needed it.
I guess, while I strive - fighting and clawing all the way - to get to the top, I simultaneously fear the pinnacle. I fear that responsibility. I fear that I will not be ready in time to not destructive wreck such weighty power bestowed upon me.
Most of the time, I just laugh at myself to get real.
Finish medical school first, will ya?
Then you can stress about being a good doctor. Can't be good if you ain't even one.
So I guess I will survive on bowls of fruit and tea for now. Until I sort out this mess of my brain.
As usual.
Oh so usual.
The past week has been uncomfortably hotter than usual - both in terms of the year as well as the daily temperature. I am not sure if that is the cause, or if it is the increasing pace of life of late, but near the evening, I feel so nauseated at the thought of food that I end up skipping supper. It is not as if I have been eating exceptionally or unusually large meals during the day. In fact, I have been eating breakfast, so my metabolism should be boosted, and I should subsequently be hungry for supper.
But for some reason, come 5pm or 6pm, even food items I have loved seem so - unappetizing. So much so that I avoid them and the kitchen until hours pass. Then, come later in the night, I feel shaky and dizzy. Knowing the physiological effects of not eating for more than four hours - but still not really feeling hunger - I eat a bowl of some sort of fruit. I feel better afterwards, but I feel no satisfaction from hunger (that which had not been present before anyway) but also no uncomfortable distension of being overly full.
I simply feel ... an absence of feeling.
I am quite sure this is not normal.
It is not as if I have lost the ability to be hungry. I can feel hungry during the day - for lunch or for breakfast even. I have always been a biological failure at sensing my hunger, often not realizing it until I am literally reeling from weakness.
I surmise that this can be either due to the pace of my busy-ing life of late or some sort of deep-seated stress. I have always been a chaser after productivity and full schedules. The inevitable consequence is that I leave out time for eating. I find that while I do not despise food, I also do not feel particular excitement/anticipation for it either. I enjoy the foods I like (though that may be a small and few selection already), but I do not usually seek them out. Or seek out potentially good-tasting novelty.
To be honest, I am not sure what I am stressed about at this point in time. Sure, I have been unsettled and somewhat unhappy ever since the incident with him (that forceful intervention to tear a gap between him and I), bur I figured I already bawled my eyes out in private enough. Sure, there had been that nagging sense of dissatisfaction of wanting to accomplish more, utilize more of my time, prepare more upcoming life events, but it was nothing out of the ordinary.
I am a worrier.
I worry.
And in the unstoppable rate tearing of each page of the day, it becomes clearer and more realistic - the implications of the start of medical school. This may seem like a silly and immature concern, but at the age of twenty-two (soon twenty-three), I still feel a child in mind. I fear that perhaps my maturity is not on par that is required of a good physician. I worry that I may not grow up in time to be a good physician.
Sometimes, I feel like I can never grow up. I am just a child chasing after this big - dream of mine. Dreaming to help other people. Dreaming to stand alone in my own judgment. Dreaming, dreading, that one day, the weight will be all on my shoulders.
Independence is not something I am not unfamiliar with, but I had always had someone to rely on or inquire advice when I needed it.
I guess, while I strive - fighting and clawing all the way - to get to the top, I simultaneously fear the pinnacle. I fear that responsibility. I fear that I will not be ready in time to not destructive wreck such weighty power bestowed upon me.
Most of the time, I just laugh at myself to get real.
Finish medical school first, will ya?
Then you can stress about being a good doctor. Can't be good if you ain't even one.
So I guess I will survive on bowls of fruit and tea for now. Until I sort out this mess of my brain.
As usual.
Oh so usual.
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