Chasing Myself
I sit here and realize I have accomplished nothing. I used to be so aware of every feeling to the point that I could not take it. I felt like I could pour things out into paper in such vivid description. It was like I painted my brain and every thought within it onto a page with watercolor and ink. Watercolor because it was like a contorted, blurring dream. My tears ran down in my mind and bled colors together. I could not differentiate between one emotion or another. One minute it was anger, then self-pity, and then it was despair. I got so lost that I begged to be pulled back out of the torture of my own thought process. Unfortunately, you cannot escape your own brain. I. Just. Shut Down. Completely.
Now I sit here and I cannot understand where my drive and passion went. Shutting out every bit of sadness and worry does not immediately get replaced by happiness, it is numbness. With every ache inside me that left through open veins, my drive and passion went with. So what do I do? I pick up a goddamn pen and force myself to write these words onto a page and then type them out. I squeeze them past the block in my brain. I force myself outside, I force myself to do the things that give a hint of feeling. Now it is a flicker or spark that is so brief, it almost is not there. It is like chasing fireflies. This is me chasing happiness. Β Β Β Β
