under the cut. tw
sat here for a solid minute wondering what to type. who I would talk to. thought I maybe had a couple people but every day that list diminishes to a.. comical degree. you just have to laugh.
itâs funny because you build up these perceptions of the people around you, and you only let in so many, a carefully curated bunch that you trust, would do anything for, and then..
I donât know. I really donât know anymore. what do I call this- advanced autopilot? a level of apathy where I really canât react to anything lest I hurt my remaining loved ones and just keep going. keep moving. keep working and figuring things out and justifying the space my existence takes up.
and even then handling the âinsert shitty situation of the weekâ always becomes about somebody else- like, itâs their pie now, I guess, I kind of wanted to enjoy a slice of it and really process the flavor, but go ahead. Iâll ask you if you like it and how it tastes. if you need anything else to help wash it down. no, Iâll clean up the dishes after, donât worry.
how am I doing? bad. horrendously bad. but.. thereâs nothing to be done about it that Iâm not already doing. I know the weight and shape of this boulder because my hands have mapped its every crevice, every inch, and pushing it still looks like progress when youâre on the outside. you canât be rotting if youâre doing something every day.
if it was actually that bad youâd let the boulder crush you.
