It’s Monday.

I woke up at  5:30 this morning. I chose not to workout. I could have, but I needed to start today slow. Real slow. I read a message today from a  (sort of) friend, he was looking for someone to do a job. I did something scary. I said I could do it.

I lost faith in myself and my ability a week or so ago. I stopped and had no idea why I am doing what I’m doing. Why did I choose to study what I’m studying? Why? When I am clearly incapable of doing it. I still don’t know. It’s been weeks and I still don’t know.

So, I did something scary.

I told him I could do it. I know it’s a lie, but perhaps this will lead to something good. Maybe it could lead to a little bit of faith.

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I changed my sheets,

washed some of the dishes and sorted my laundry. I have so much to do today. I think. Sweep, mop, make those mock-ups, start building that app, meal prep and study for that test. I don’t know if it’s too much work or none at all. I want to jump rope tomorrow morning. Maybe do some strength training. I need to finish all my work before 9:30 so I can be asleep by 10. Maybe I can be up by 5:30.

I have so many things I want to say to you. I never get the chance to say them. It’s funny how you think you’re the only one suffering. It’s strange, I don’t want to tell you of my pain. I don’t want to let you in. Not like that. Not any more. Not ever. But I still have things I need to say. I need to tell you that I’m sorry for my part of the trauma. I need to tell you that it hurts when I try and it’s like nothing matters. I need to tell you that I want to fix it, but I don’t know where to start and I can’t do it alone. What’s the likeliness that I’ll say these things anyway…

I have no space or energy in my heart right now. Not even for myself. And that scares me.

One step at a time though. I have to do those dishes and work a little smart today. I need to keep moving. I won’t stay in bed till 3pm again. No. Today will be different.

Get Your Shit Together.

Get your shit together. Get it all together and put it in a backpack.  All your shit, so that it’s together. And if you’ve gotta take it somewhere, take it somewhere. Take it to the shit store and sell it or put it in a shit museum. I don’t care what you do, you just gotta get it together. Get your shit together.

My house is a mess. An absolute mess. A mountain of clothes blocking the door and dishes upon dishes some with…you  know…mould. Yeah. I’ve been living like I have no standards. Though this week I haven’t really had any have I? I’ve been a mess. I’m a mess. It’s strange…it’s like everything stopped and so did I and as much as I pretend to keep going…I’m not. It’s a lie.

It needs to end.

I can’t just stop. I can’t just shut down and pretend that everything’s okay. It’s not.

I need to clean my house.

I need to exercise and stop eating cereal every damn night.

I know the hurt won’t go.

I know the motivation won’t appear in seconds.

I know that I need to start moving so that I can move on.

Catharsis

Epoch

I’m tired.

The kind of tired that keeps people up till morning.

That kind of tired.

My heart sinks, skips beats, then pounds.

Its lethargy has me questioning,

All that set it on fire.

Passion? That drive that keeps storming.

That hurricane, that I apparently found.

My eyes burn.

Salt water.

Salt Water.

Salt Water.

Overflowing tributaries, into oceans.

It’s too late for me tonight.

I’m half convinced I’ll be just another her.

Another one to spurn.

Another commotion,

Not worthy of any devotion.

The veins on my temples pulse.

Headache, upon headache.

Mistake, upon mistake.

I procrastinate and hesitate.

There are too many words to say!

It’s  pied.

It’s mixed and muddled.

Tousled.

A mess. An utter mess.

I want to SCREAM.

SHOUT.

YELL.

whisper.

whimper.

whine.

I want to be sublime.

There’s too much on my mind.

SAY IT!

….What if I’m not good enough? 

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What is wrong with me…

I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m trying. I’m trying. Why isn’t it enough? Why not. Why am I the one who isn’t hurting? Why am I the one who’s had it good? Why can’t I say it? Why can’t I fucking say it? I don’t sleep. I can’t focus. I’m crying all the damn time. All the damn time. In the shower, on the floor, in my bed, in the bathroom…as I do the fucking dishes. I’m crying right now. I know that I’m not enough. Damn it I know that I don’t have what you need. I know that I am always going to be the monster. I know that it will always be my fault. I know….but I will still get up in the morning and offer to buy you lunch.

I was supposed to be better.

I failed. I failed my test. Pathetic. I didn’t score half. I failed and felt so damn shitty because I was supposed to be better. I studied. I read and fucking gave it everything and I failed. So I went home and after some time cried a little because…well…. just because. What else do you do when you feel like absolute shit?

It’s just a piece of paper.

Just a test.

Just….something less significant than you think. Yet here I am, treating this like it’s some defining moment.

I was supposed to be better. I deserve better and so I have to work for it right? Work harder, be better. And nothing. NOTHING!

I’ve sat in my room for over an hour doing little to nothing because I just lack the motivation. Next I’ll probably sit in the dark thinking that I deserve better and should have pushed harder. Stayed up longer. Then it comes back. That stupid fucking voice.

I just needed to talk so someone. I just needed to talk to anyone. I still need that. I need to talk to anyone. I could say there’s no one to talk to…but that’s not true. I spoke to mum and it helped. Then no one for a while. Everyone was busy. I don’t know if I can judge…I’ll try not to…but they don’t get to judge me for being busy…Then a little company for some time at around 7:30 maybe 8…

At least in the end there was someone to talk to.

Thank you.