I’m rather severely depressed.
I caught a cold this week from my kiddo. It gives me the excuse to sit around all day and do nothing, to take NyQuil to help me sleep – and then sleep til 1pm the next afternoon. But really, that’s all I want to do right now anyway. Sleep and do nothing.
I don’t want to see people, but I’m lonely. I don’t want to go out, but I’m feeling stir crazy. I hate my hair, I hate my glasses, I hate all my clothes, I hate my environment and my stuff. I wander around the house feeling empty and ghost-like, and even my reflection is haunted, my eyes dark and clouded.
I lay in bed at night and feel my heart beat. It’s still there, still beating, pouring life and energy through me. But I’m so detached. I feel like a visitor in this temple, left with only the vague memory of it once being important – and not all that long ago. But I’m so ravaged by the hurt, so caught up in betrayal and dismay and heartbreak, that this place seems long abandoned.
The eye of the hurricane has closed around me, and I’m caught here, spinning and spinning and lost, adrift in the ache, detached from the moorings that once could have guided, removed from the light that once held me steady – forcibly removed, by my own hand. Unsure, uncertain – and at the moment, unwilling – to find the way back.