There are more letters cluttering my floor. It’s better to get things out even if you can’t get any answers. It’s not fair to have things unexplained and left with questions, but if you can’t have the conversation to put your mind at ease and help you to move on, the only thing you can do is get it out.
I’m getting it all out as much as I can, but there seems to be far more than I would ever have thought possible. My days have become sort of vague. Everything is monotonous and the same.
There’s also this terrible vacant, distant thing going on with my head. I don’t feel as if I’m all here most of the time. Days are simply a living distraction where I forget what I’m doing or I do things without any reason. It’s awful. It’s like dissolving.
And I don’t like it one bit.
My concentration is shot, so I’m having to really focus to do anything, which isn’t great considering I was trying to edit the WIP. Editing is going nowhere. I open the document and then space out, floundering in nothingness because concentrating and making sense are things I don’t seem able to accomplish.
The sickness hasn’t gone yet, either, so I can’t even comfort eat – not that we have anything the house to eat, that is. The almost throwing up seems to have passed a little, though. It’s just the wanting to be halfway through a meal or after something as small as a sandwich that’s messing with my mind and my stomach. I really want it to go away instead of sitting here reminding me.
I find myself hanging around in the same room as my parents so their mundane conversation can destroy any thoughts that may arise in my head. I’ve even got a routine of mind numbing programmes to keep me from thinking, but none of that matters when I try to sleep. There there’s nothing to keep me from conversations in my head that will never come to fruition.
My mind is a mess.
Exhaustion keeps finding me, trying to convince me to nap in the day again in a pathetic attempt to keep myself from reality. Escapism is currently my only cure, but you can’t escape from yourself. You will always be you. And your thoughts will always be yours.
If only they weren’t.
I’ve lost weight, which concerns me a little. I haven’t weighed myself, but apparently it’s obvious to anyone who looks at me… which isn’t very reassuring. I guess I must look like the waif I feel I’ve become.
If this was a movie I could bypass all of this heartache in a quick, well-themed montage until the bit where the story starts looking up for me. Is it going to look up? People tell me it will, but then… this isn’t a movie, is it? And as it says in a favourite song of mine ‘these villains always get the girl’*.
I watched through the video I did for Britain In A Day. It’s more cringe worthy and depressed than I thought it was. So sorry about that. It was supposed to be me speaking from the heart so I guess that’s why.
I wish all the whys would go away. But they won’t. And he won’t talk to me in person because he’s clearly afraid. Fearful little mouse…
It seems to me that you should be brave enough to stand up and face the person you’ve hurt, give them an explanation and let them use that to help them move on if they can. At least then they know what’s happened. I’ve heard all the things he’s said to other people about the reason. All inconsistent and things I would never have expected. Things that haven’t been said to me in any way by him. A little common courtesy would have been nice…
But all these reasons he’s come up with and told to people come down to the idea that it was my fault in some way. I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know if anything is true any more. I give up on believing in things. Waste of time.
Truth doesn’t matter anyway. Truth has become just a word. A word with no meaning and no significance to anyone any more.
*Straw Dog by Something Corporate & title post lyrics from Jar Of Hearts by Christina Perri.
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