I was perfectly fine today, and yesterday, and the day before, and all of a sudden as I went into the library and took a book of "Selected Poems of W. H. Auden" from the shelf I started to feel an overwhelming panic and it seems the only way I can get it out of my mind is to sit down at a computer and type...

It feels like a thread somewhere has broken, I was perfectly fine this morning I even laughed a lot at Yihua's letter and nothing of any importance really happened, so why do I feel so anxious?

There's something wrong something is wrong I only felt it during our last period Lit lesson where we were doing practical criticism and she was talking about embalming and dead bodies and I got a jolt a sharp sudden shock, I thought I should be over it it was five bloody years ago but why do I still feel this way whenever something of this sort is mentioned in school? Last year when we were doing Plath Ms Lim started talking about Buddhist funeral rites where you have to use chopsticks to pick up pieces of bone after they cremate the body so that you can put them in the jar and suddenly I thought of the gleaming fragment of skull I touched... I never thought it influenced me very much but apparently it has as she went on and on and on I put my hands over my ears but I could still hear her talking about it, and talking and talking and talking and I wanted to grab the door and fling myself out but that would have attracted too much attention...

Why do I want to improve myself why do I want to change things why do I even bother isn't it so much easier to be dead?

Isn't it so much easier to be dead?