LAST STRAW

my journal at times is no longer enough to contain my outpourings.

i feel sorry for it!

it must be so exhausting, the unending stream of my feelings and emotions, all the chaotic stasis my life feels like at the moment.

at the moment? it’s been a very long moment indeed. time is after all relative, so i guess i can keep on saying, “sorry, i’ve been going through a complicated moment”.

is anyone going to double check anyway?

“i just quit my job” was cool as long as that “just” was below a couple of months. now all i am is a broken person who has lost so much love in the wake of the complicated moment she has been going through she cannot keep no longer count.

partners have left, best friends have changed, distanced themselves. social circle has shrunk. new people feel unbearably distant, alien, no energy left to try and get close anyway.

what is going on what is this “moment” about? what is the deal?

i crave solitude, yet i cannot be alone.

i crave change, but i doubt myself to the point of paralysis.

and just when i had gathered the strength to jump into the next adventure, a couple of months upon which i am bundling so many expectations that it is getting already unhealthy; just when i have started feeling that all the bits and pieces of my poor broken self are starting to form something fascinating and worthwhile, down there on the floor –

another blow. a small yet powerful one.

“yeah this little side job is actually not bad right now, useful pocket money, i could book my tickets with it!”

gone.

which is ok i guess.

tomorrow i’ll be fine.

but right now, it feels like an unbearably heavy last straw. back is about to break. courage is faltering. self-esteem, shattering.

was the glue too old to keep anything together?

are the good days just an attempt at fooling myself?

the awareness of my privilege doesn’t help me feel sorry for myself.

how sweet is the temptation to curl up and cry cry cry just cry myself to fucking sleep, get angry at everyone, make myself even more unworthy of love.

today someone on my feed reminded me that the hardest part of taking care of someone with mental health issues is how hard to love their illness often make them.

am i sick?

or am i just a spoiled kid who cannot get her life together.

34.

too old for so many things, not worth even trying, too late.

too young to give up though.

what to do with the rest of the years in front of me? with the body i so religiously and lovingly care for? what is all the sport and stretching and mobility routines and fresh vegetables for?

healthy and depressed, such sparkly combo.

cannot wait.