impersonal

I have this thing where whenever I am pissed, I shall protest my hatred in silence. I shall not talk, but allow myself moments of coldness that can prolong to days or weeks. I shall walk with a blank expression to my face and hover to each corner of the house. I shall look at my face in the mirror and be surprised by how in a space of twenty minutes, or two kilometers,  distance between my house and the train station, I am transformed. I am left here to die, and here my room is the only sanctuary where i shall not speak to anyone. I feel neglected, having passed through days of constant walking at nights and laughing madly with the people I am comfortable with, talking of whatever obscure topics and analysis I have made. Here I retreat to my solitude, and lament to my father that no longer do I feel close to God. I lament to my boyfriend that I am bored. Maybe it is the shift in the environment, where one feels suspended from one state of cheerfulness and another of total solitude. Maybe I am transitioning.