Classisism, neoclassissm, mimesis, pragmatism, periphrasis, expressivism, chiasmus, Aristotle, Plato, reflections, metaphors, metatextuality, metamorphosis, met a symbol now here’s 12 more, diction, critical lens, theme, which theme? Pick from 20, epistemological, ontological, psychological, sociological, spiritual, syntax, Xanax, the list goes on and on.

Or, in other words, *stab stab stab stab stab*

The violent paragraph above might make any well-standing English major’s mouth water; it’s what they do. But much as what a vampire does is suck the actual life out of everyday creatures, so does analysis, and not just literary.

I major in murdering, let me explain.

A description of myself may not make you think I belong on dateline. I’m a self-respecting 20-year-old in my junior year of college—you go girl. I study English and Education—how sweet. I party on occasion and binge-watch The Office—awe what a millennial. I have a crippling depression that follows me everywhere I go—hit the brakes, mental instability? *insert thought emoji*

In Western culture, it is the resounding goal to become well educated, get that degree, buy a house, and pop out some cute little Jimmies. However, in the process of doing all that, I’m just learning how to kill the joy I once got out of life.

It’s been years since I’ve read just for fun, if I’m not required to write a literary analysis on it, what’s the point? My girlfriends gawk at our neighbor’s six-pack, pectoral beauty; I gawk at how their pupils are dilating to signal they’re attraction, how his six-pack and pecs are hot because they grant him the ability to catch food and provide for a family. Each note I play on my keyboard is a reminder that with each repetition I’m simply myelinating my neurons—my synapses are gonna get a lot of action tonight. A course in social linguistics has given me a torture I can’t escape; as soon as you open your mouth I’m automatically thinking about which dialects you’re capable of using, if you’re code switching with me, and you bet your ass if you use negative face with me I’LL KNOW IT!

This is only a peek into my arsenal; I have boundless weapons inside me that click-click-boom the pleasure out of just living. And I’ve still 3 more years of schooling to go.

Do not take this as an excuse for me to list everything I’ve come to know about the world. As I’ve said, this is only a taste. I could go on and on and try to impress you with my collection of knowledge, but that’s not my point. My point is that the voices from the texts have become the voices in my head. Anytime I have a consciously functioning brain wave, I’m haunted by analyses that choke the life out of living.

These lenses through which I’m seeing the world are too plenty, I feel as if I’m looking through a kaleidoscope with a strobe light at the other end. Inescapably, the urge to kill cannot be quenched; there are articles of malice on the internet, libraries full of poison, YouTube videos galore that aim to snag you, teach you, and keep you in their dungeons. Am I supposed to just live in a box? Bind me in a straitjacket, confine me to a padded room; I must learn no more.

And yet I must go on.

As I’ve learned in my countless English classes, this is where I make a resolution. This is where I conclude. Have I come full circle? Do I have a strong thesis and does my conclusion support my thesis? The answer is I cannot make a circle, a square, a triangle, or any shape with reason; I have no insight on how to escape this torture. I’m meandering, tracing a squiggly line behind me. I will simply keep existing, keep stab-stab-stabbing until by some means, whatever that may be, I become a lover of life, instead of a killer.