I think I should force myself write again. Or to be more precise, vomit words. Just so long as they come out, really, I don't care what it looks like.
This isn't writing to be read, or even read back.
It's just to allow an internal chaos to stop spinning inside me so violently I can barely stand still. I don't know what I want. I don't know if I can get what I want. But it's getting hard to stay, unmoving, and live.
At some level, it feels like things aren't happening. Nothing is moving. I am stuck, and time is passing me by. I am older, uglier, more worthless, more of a failed potential, most likely walking into a catastrophe.
At another, things are happening quickly and I am not sure I fully understand them. I am not in control of a ship I am supposed to be driving. And I am scared I might end up at a place not great.
So this isn't writing. This is escaping from reality. A mere refuge.
This isn't writing to be read, or even read back.
It's just to allow an internal chaos to stop spinning inside me so violently I can barely stand still. I don't know what I want. I don't know if I can get what I want. But it's getting hard to stay, unmoving, and live.
At some level, it feels like things aren't happening. Nothing is moving. I am stuck, and time is passing me by. I am older, uglier, more worthless, more of a failed potential, most likely walking into a catastrophe.
At another, things are happening quickly and I am not sure I fully understand them. I am not in control of a ship I am supposed to be driving. And I am scared I might end up at a place not great.
So this isn't writing. This is escaping from reality. A mere refuge.
