Existentialism makes you Cry.

I still feel like a major portion of who I am has been ripped out from my core and ...hidden somewhere in the world. I don't know how to fix it and I'm still faking it most of the time. It's easier to be me when I'm talking to other people and listening to their problems, but the part of me that just had joy at just...being me is gone. I don't know where it is. I feel like sometimes I'm trying to make myself into someone I would like, by buying pretty things or wearing pretty things or doing pretty things to myself, but no, the part of me that liked me isn't lured back by that.

I know instinctively what I want, what I think will make me feel better, and it's taking all of my energy to not do it because at least my logical self stayed. I know that if I just do what I really want to do, it'll just cause me more grief, because it's not solving the problem. It'd be extending the problem, or adding to it.

I think perhaps my feelings have a lot to do with how I feel like I don't have time for myself any more. Whenever I think about what I need to do, I spiral into a small anxiety attack, which brings out a bout of depression. I can't look the future or think about what I'd like to do with my life because it just feels like work.

I just want things to be dependable. And simple. And run like clockwork. I wish I could shut off my brain. But all I feel today is dread and fear and the unhealthy desire to run away.

I miss the part of me that used to love everything about myself, that wouldn't trade any of my experiences away. The part of me that was proud of who I was and how I got to that point, the sum of all my struggles and pains. I've lost that part of me, and all I can think about is wanting to undo things, wishing I'd not done some things, wishing I had done others. I want to regress and restart and repeat...

I know it's not me, and I'm still waiting.

Waiting for that bit of me to return.

:: And that's all she wrote 8:41 PM [+] ::
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