I sit here, reading and bored. Why do we keep going on as we do? I want to cry. I want to throw up. I want to run away from myself. I am sad. I have lost so much and gained so much and lost again.
I want to go home and not leave the house. Stay curled up in bed. Waiting.
Waiting for time to pass. Waiting to be held. Waiting to understand myself.
How long will that take? How much money have we lost? How much pain have I caused?
Where am I going? What do I want? I want love and even a small understanding of my confusion.
I spin. I drum. I sing. I cry. I sleep. Sometimes I eat. Sometimes I dance. I move back and forth between two places. Everything else scares me.
I fear judgement. I fear being declared a fake. Am I? Have I taken advantage of my position? Have I lost track of my journey that I no longer know where I am going or who with?
How easy is it to forget me?
I am cold. I am always cold. I do not hunger. I ache. The answer is within me and I cannot find it. Any idea is a good idea. Is anyone listening?
I cannot share these things with others. If I do then I have laid my burden before them and in a way asked them to carry it. For me? With me? I do not know. But no one should have to carry my burden. No matter how small or big. I am lost and cannot be found.
How long before the new is no longer exciting and I grow old of it? How long before others grow old of me? How much longer must I deal with myself? The anxiety builds. I find so little pleasure in so few things.
That which I once loved I care little for. That which I once dreamed I have forgotten. Where am I? Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose? Why is it so hard for me to be happy?