Fall 2017

Scrolling through my old text messages to try to prove to myself that I have people I can talk to. Everyone close is far away from me, and I don’t know why, but I can’t bring myself to pull them close again. I exist mostly at home and mostly by myself. Sometimes in tears, sometimes not; always seeking out some kind of “real” unpremeditated joy that eludes me.

In a funk is how I’ve been putting it. Truthfully I don’t know what this is. In one moment I am laughing, laughing, hugging, smiling at you – in the next I’m utterly confused, internally numb, suddenly realizing snot and tears I didn’t think I had left.

I’ve been writing like crazy about my sadness and paranoia.

I revisited my exchange with [redacted] a while back, about whether or not I should jump into a hole I’ll have to dig and dig my way out of. We talked about relationships (how they are not fleeting) and about how it can be useful to be sad and to stick your hand in your deep sadness and feel around (though it takes great confidence that you can get yourself out).

I feel like a puddle. I want a million hugs and I want to feel less burdensome and less like I let people down. I want to feel listened to. I want clearer lines between the person I am and the place I’m in.