I hate that question.
Hate it.
I hated it before because the answer was always too depressing, or not depressing enough. The question was loaded with expectations and a desire to help an unhelpable situation.
I hate it now because I don’t know.
I want to say OK. I want to say good. I’m supposed to say good.
But good is too big. Good is too all encompassing and final and five steps ahead of where I’m at right now.
How am I?
I’m treading water. Except that treading water implies that your head is above the surface, and I’m not exactly sure mine is. I’m hanging on. Minute to minute, I’m hanging on. I’m waiting for the dam to break.
On the other side of the dam lies normal life and vivid colors.
On this side of the dam is a flood of doubt and fear and guilt and sense that I have screwed everything up. I feel like I’m not recovering as quickly as I should. I’m going over all the phone calls I haven’t made or returned, all of the emails I can’t stand to respond to, all of the pieces that I just don’t have the heart to pick up yet.
I feel isolated.
And yet, every time someone tries to make their way through the walls of isolation, I push them out.
I feel trapped inside an alternate reality, a reality that exists deep inside the recesses of my own mind. I’m paranoid. Why hasn’t that person called? Is that other person upset with me, or disappointed in me? Is everyone shaking their head at how horribly I’ve handled myself?
I’m tired of being maudlin. I’m fed up with being fragile. I haven’t been this emotionally confused and angst ridden since I was 16 years old and wall papering my bedroom with handwritten poems.
I’m sick of me.
I imagine the rest of the world is, too.
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Miss Britt Reply:
October 13th, 2009 at 11:12 am
@Bre, and now I am downloading music like a MAD woman.
I can’t believe I didn’t already have “Let It Be”.
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