I can tell that the PhD is going to kill me slowly, from the inside out, like a cancer. Forgive my melodrama, but I'm in one of those moments of absolute clarity. I know that if I am prevented from creating, from imagining, from telling stories or drawing illusions out of my mind that I begin to grow dead and still and cold. The degree is making me colder, harsher, less able to put up with other people's shit.
When I was younger, when I was just entering adolescence, I was a very angry girl. In time I dealt with my anger, and was just left with sadness. Now I feel the anger returning, and I don't think that I like it.
I am desperate - I must create. I don't want to give in to that anger again.