I know that it has been a few weeks since I last updated, but I have not felt the impulse to write in some time, not even really right now, to be honest. But I do because I make myself. I still feel undeniably empty. Each time I start a sentence, I read it, then reread it, and then promptly erase it (which is not going to get me anywhere). I sigh, I gaze into nothing, and I feel a terrific weight burdening my body, anchoring it down to the ground. These past few weeks, I have had a wandering mind. I’ve been day dreaming, pondering, and contemplating. I can’t exactly say the reason for my pensive mood, but I feel mentally restless (surprise, surprise).
At the same time, I am finding it increasingly more focus on any one task. I have to admit that I feel like I am looking for something that I cannot identify, drifting from here to there in aimless and perpetual circles.
I don’t know why.
I’ve just reread what I’ve wrote. I’m not very satisfied with it, nor am I pleased with how many times I use the word “I.” It sounds rather self absorbed, doesn’t it? But for now, it will have to do.
In all honesty, I cannot say that anything is direly wrong or missing from my life. I just feel… depleted. Not even sad, per se. Just depleted of energy and emotion. And I can’t help but wonder if this state resembles anything close to normalcy. Probably not.
It makes me feel guilty and ungrateful for not being capable to appreciate everything that I have in my life. I hope and long for something to ignite me, to re-spark something, to feel active and engaged and happy about something. But after looking deep inside of myself, I come up empty-handed. In the words of Lewis Carroll, “You used to be much more…”muchier.” You’ve lost your muchness.”
It’s exhausting to live in your own head. I need a change of some sort. What it is and where it ought to come from, I have no idea. But feeling like this is simply exhausting and unsustainable.
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