Some days, I just feel stuck. Stuck waiting for something to change. Stuck in the same old patterns of thought and behavior that are so well-tread as to be not only habit, but second-nature. These moments have been pretty fast and furious the last few weeks.
I’ve felt a bit like a passenger in a plane in a holding pattern, praying for my time to touch down in a new place. I haven’t felt much like working on anything lately. I’ve been in a kind of lethargy and anhedonia that’s uncomfortable, but easy.
I know that I should reach out more, be more communicative with others, ask how I can help. I know I should be taking better care of myself, sleeping more, writing gratitude lists. I haven’t wanted to do any of that.
I haven’t wanted to paint or write, either, but so I’m doing this.
Maybe this is what other people call burn-out, or maybe it’s a hibernation mode I’ve gone into for self-protection. Maybe I’m depressed. It’s always been really hard for me to tell what I’m really feeling and why, and what I should do about it. I think about everything too much, I’m very self-critical and -deprecating.
I get lonely easily and I put far too much stock in what others think about me.
I guess some of this is just listing my character defects–I’m not to that part of my recovery yet, but they seem to keep jumping out at me lately. Maybe I do hold my self-resentment close in my heart still. No maybe, I do.
I wish it were easy for me to let go of these feelings of negative-esteem and disappointment toward myself. I wish I could turn my face to the light and be freed from self-hatred, which is sometimes what it amounts to. Sometimes I do still think dying would be easier than living in pain.
A lot of people are grieving for true tragedy this week, and it’s so painful that I’ve avoided the news and all it implies. I’m not ignorant, but I am selfish. My heart hurts so much for the world at large, but it also hurts because I feel so useless, in so many ways.
I don’t have anything helpful to contribute to any conversation right now. I’m too busy with the chatter in my head, it seems.
I apologize to you, readers, for my self-pity and selfishness. I apologize that I can’t be a paragon of hope or support or kindness or even self-love, right now. I’m not sure I ever was, but I had delusions of it once or twice, I suppose.
I’m sure this really boils down to egotism–how often have I written the words “I” or “my” in this post? In this blog? As always, there is much to meditate and pray on.
For now, I’ll hope to rest and have a better tomorrow. And I’ll hope the same for the world at large, as we all keep processing our grief and uncertainty. And I’ll pray we’ll get to land in a new and better place, soon.