I have become so accustomed to constantly working that downtime now feels confusing. Aside from escaping, or at least masking, the myriad emotions of a complete life change, being busy and getting things done has been a great confidence builder.
Downtime reminds me that I don’t remember how to be creative any more and lets all the doubt and dissonance come bubbling up. I don’t want to be that person who insulates themselves from their feelings, but I clearly don’t remember how to take time for my personal outlets, my creative projects, joys, or even just being quiet within myself.
I find myself seeking companions to do things that I once would have enjoyed doing by myself. I look to social interaction as an escape from alone time. This is not me. I’m no introvert, but I’m also not an extrovert. It’s just another spectrum and I oscillate somewhere in the middle.
When I took up colouring a few years ago, I did it to fill time, to continue playing with media I used to take for granted, and, yes, to try and counteract my anxiety and depression. I don’t really like colouring, because it reminds me that not so long ago, I’d just pick up pencil and paper and make my own pictures. So now I’m not even colouring, but can’t bring myself to draw. I don’t remember how to be good at it and I don’t like being bad at it.
This is probably a temporary problem, which I guess it won’t matter much once I start the PhD in September and downtime becomes a distant memory.