Too Nima is familiar.
The inexplicable cry, the look of the drowning man looking at the people on the shore, the fear of the world's Dazai, the desperate dependence on someone who is not worth relying on, the urge to flee.
Not everyone who suffers from depression has it. Teacher Xia used this film to remind me that maybe it's time to sum it up.
On the way home in the evening of the first year of high school, the road was being built at the gate of the school, the grayish-yellow dust filled the dry and dirty air, slapping the breath of every passerby, and the fingertips would soon be stained with the smell of dust, It also has a faint metallic smell. People on the road rushed to different directions with exhausted and dull expressions, stopping at red lights, and subtly competing with the parked vehicles for a few seconds earlier to pass. The rush hour, the traffic jam, the horn being pressed for a long time by a certain driver, "di--" penetrates the heavy air and pierces everyone's eardrums, and people are like tame sheep half silently enduring, accustomed to . Middle school students in school uniforms buy milk tea and drink milk tea at the milk tea shop by the roadside, chatting with each other, and the kindergarten is dismissed. The sky is getting darker, everyone's figure is blurred, the hustle and bustle of the day has not faded away, and the night that makes people feel safe has not yet come, everything becomes depressing at this moment, and even feels lost. dignity. I was on the bus going home, and it finally got dark before I got home. I fantasized about the car driving to nowhere, fantasizing about the people around me being able to hug me and accept me and take me out of this hellish place. I suddenly had an incomparable yearning for this fellow traveler who happened to be sitting on the bus beside me. She was like a god, omnipotent, kind, and warm. Desperate eyes looked at her - an aunt in her 50s, wearing a sweater and her child's green school uniform, with a middle-aged woman's satchel on her lap, dozing off.
Everything in the outer world is safe and sound, but the inside is crumbling and in ruins.
The flowers are still blooming. Crying but never ending.
Go to school in the morning. The road is grey. The sky in Shanghai is also grey. The sycamore trees on the roadside are gray. The school gate is grey. There are also grey buildings and walls. The girls, with identical ponytails and identical grey school uniforms, filed into the grey campus on the grey sidewalk against the grey sky. Exactly the same, with a ponytail back. Don't don't don't don't. Haruki Murakami, who was carrying a schoolbag, ran away, turned around and got into the subway and left as if to escape. When there is no truancy, doing morning exercises is a nightmare. How someone invents such stupid, meaningless movements, and the students repeat them meekly, each one like a small insult to humanity. Next section, jumping movement. Raise the flag and sing the national anthem. When I was doing morning exercises, I stood in the classroom and looked down, and when the flag was raised, everyone turned their backs to me and faced the flag. There was magic in that moment, the ease of watching everyone from the shadows was so addicting. Then I played My December on a projector and radio speakers in the classroom. One day, a serious girl suddenly looked at me condescendingly when I watched everyone go to the morning exercise again, and said indignantly, "You live too much. Not serious!!" This was so abrupt that it was a little funny, so I said to her with a rogue smile, "I am the one who lives the most seriously." If only you could understand.
When I was 16 years old, I felt that I was dead, so I made a bookmark of my own death - that was the peak of the second disease. However, as a prophecy, the cowardly I had a funny shell from then on, from a shameful worm to a funny master. Only one day, I was seen by that ghostly classmate in a painful sleep. I never thought that I would lie on the table and bow my head to endure the explosions in my heart, that I would be witnessed, and it was like being caught for murder. "You seem to be having a hard time sleeping." I said I forgot to drink my coffee and got a headache.
Always remember the hours.
It was a sunny day after I was diagnosed in Huashan Hospital. My mother and I were looking for a place to have lunch. She took half a day off, and I took half a day off from school. In the typhoon shelter, I found a seat by the window and sat down, ordered a few side dishes, and a family funny video was playing on the TV. The bag was stuffed with half-year-old pills, all Prozac. She said she was sorry. Looking at the sunshine outside the window, I seem to have never felt such real sunshine and breathed such fresh air. Back to school in the afternoon, the students all went to physical education. The sun quietly sprinkled on the empty classroom, fine dust floated in the air, the fragrance of freshly pruned camphor wood filled the window, and there was a faint smell of warm and sweet milk and clothes on children in the classroom Son. Dirty schoolbags were left on the seats, and there were unfinished workbooks and idle books peeking through in class.
In the evening of my senior year of high school, I finally had a good place to escape the turn of day and night. With my first guitar, I ducked into the auditorium and closed the heavy door. The auditorium for a thousand people was empty, the air was as cold as ice, and the music that flowed out was like ice. The colored glass panes only existed for a moment by the projection of the faint light on the cold concrete floor, and then they were swallowed up by the darkness. The guitar is still new, with a reassuring pine and banana water smell. The strings are also new and feel soft and soft to the touch. Soon his fingers were cold and his whole body was shaking. I hold Qin tightly like a parent or lover. I don't know when someone came in behind me, and I sat and listened without saying a word. After practicing the piano, I packed up and left, and I didn't exchange a word from beginning to end. That magical place turns out to emit different magical powers at different times.
I remember wearing a thick, dirty coat in my freshman year and hunched over like an old man looking for a master. The students carrying takeaways passed me by. It's very cold in the school. When I think about it, it always seems to be in the headphones . It would be nice to die. I feel scared and hate people. The only places I can live with comfort are the tall people and the cheap hotels that reek of the sewers. Because he is as fearful and weak of people as I am. He had a boyish smell about him. In other words, there is no smell of bathing. Not clean, but full of reassuring breath. alive. How can I die, I still haven't done TOEFL Delta, and I haven't signed for a courier tomorrow. I rewatched the episode where the penguin pingu made an igloo. We smoked a lot and talked a lot. He said he wants you to keep it that way. I hope you wake up tomorrow and still be who you are now.
But when I woke up the next day, I took the nasty makeup from last night and went to a must-have class with the nausea after I woke up early in the morning and ate breakfast. At 6 in the morning, the air in the suburbs is cool and cool, and everything seems to be full of hope. The sweepers are already working, the morning fog has not yet cleared, the old man selling pancakes comes out with a cart, and there are only sparse bird calls on the road before it gets noisy. I walked silently with my hands in my pockets on the road without people, my heart was full of humiliation and fragile pride, pretending to not see him around me, smoking a cigarette that existed only as a concept, with a face full of artificial impatience, And it's all fucking worthless.
This is disconcerting.
This is disconcerting.
This is disconcerting.
It was past "morning" when I woke up at my rental house that morning. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw the sun—the sun was like overturned orange juice, spread extravagantly on the wooden floor, on the quilt, on the broad bright green leaves of the unknown plant in the room, on the pot of grass beside Teacher Xia , on a vase with flowers, and on the warm sweater of Teacher Xia, who was concentrating on reading by the edge of the bed. I watched all this silently, hoping that time would not pass, that she would not find me awake, and that all this could stay for a while longer. I could even smell the warm fragrance of the sun woven into her short hair. Yet this moment did not last longer than an instant. Maybe a little longer. She turned around, found me awake, smiled warmly, and came to hug me. The best moment of my life just disappeared.
Always remember the hours.
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