Just back from an outrageously fun road trip with my sister, an outrageously fun person.
Now all I see are things I need to do, get done, finish. I feel as if I have a term paper due tomorrow and my ribbon is out of ink.
I feel guilty because I spent money that could have fed hungry people or housed homeless people. I'm selfish and I've no right to be.
I still care about people, my loved ones, but I don't feel as if I'm contributing a dang thing to them. I feel like a burden.
Even now, when I'm careful to say "I feel. . . . . " rather than "I am. . . . . . " because I know it's what I'd tell a client, I don't really believe it.
I am alone - as we all are. There is nothing special about my aloneness.
There are so damned many rules. I have screwed up so much. I wait for my brain to explode or my memory to fade until I don't know anything. I used to know so much and I will never get that back.
I rely on chemicals to help me from being this way all the time. Chemicals. Rely. Now and then the monster gets the best of even the chemicals.
Though I know this, too, shall pass, I know it will return. It always does. It is in deep. It takes its toll. It stinks of death.
If I told you I was grateful right now, I would be lying I hope to return soon, but I can promise nothing except that this scattered pile of broken bits still loves you, for whatever that is worth.
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