November 20, 2017 in Journal 1

I had a first draft of my “Infection” course report due at 5pm today. I kept procrastinating and procrastinating until I had only 3 hours left to create an essay outline, find scientific resources, and write a 1500 page report with a bibliography. I nearly finished it, but, being only a first draft, I luckily will not be graded on it.
However, the stress that I put on myself by procrastinating assignments to the last minute is ridiculous. Unfortunately, I don’t hate it. I like procrastinating and I like having the time-pressure that forces me to concentrate and work really hard. I like finishing assignments in a short amount of time and feeling overwhelming relief when I finally finish them. I like how I confine the difficulty of doing the assignment into such a short amount of time, rather than dragging it out over days and weeks. My final product of an assignment is often of the same caliber no matter how I complete it, but the stress hits me in different ways.
The stress I feel leading up to the grand show fucks with my body and my sleep and my ability to enjoy other activities. Leading up to my assignment’s deadline, I refused to go outside for the entire weekend because I thought that I might be wasting time not working on my assignment by going outside. Alas, I didn’t work on my assignment at all this weekend; instead, I just stayed in and watched Netflix with a pen in my hand all the while. I, also, couldn’t eat all day leading up to the assignment because food slows me down. Of course, after finally finishing the assignment and feeling that wave of relief, I was ravenous– tearing through 6 pieces of buttered toast.
I don’t know what I should do. I have a sick infatuation with my tendency towards procrastination, but it is clearly bad for my health. However, I think that last sentence sums up much of my life. I have a sick infatuation with my depression, procrastination, self-loathing, and self-destructive behavior even when it is clearly bad for my health.
Why am I so stupid? Do I think being depressed and broken and hateful somehow makes me special or stronger despite them? I don’t know. But, it is clearly a never-ending cycle… I have a problem–>Therefore, I’m a fucking idiot–>I have a problem–>and, so on.
If I can just get through my undergraduate and get my Bachelors degree– self-loathing or not–, I can work on myself when I have more time– when I the energy to take care of myself.