Another week since my last post, and two therapy sessions under my belt: one last Thursday and one today. Thursday's session was face timed, today was in person, which both M and I prefer. Why such frequent sessions? Well, because I'm falling apart, truthfully.
It's hard for me to describe how I feel right now. I'm nothingness. I'm empty, hollow, withdrawn, flat, fake, a husk . . . This is all more apparent when I'm at work. I'm distancing myself from people (and not just because of coronavirus, lol). No, I'm distancing myself because it takes too much out of me to interact with people. It feels like everything I do or say is a facade. My smiles and chuckles are not genuine. I'm putting up a front, putting out there what people want to see.
But that's not me.
I feel so alone and helpless and small. I'm just so empty. The only feelings I can seem to muster up are negative ones. I'm struggling to even find neutrality. It's so hard . . . feeling so empty and pretending to be happy, or even just okay.
I'm scared, too. Of a lot of things right now. I'm scared of the current state of the world. I'm scared at work - of being exposed, of having to float to another unit. I'm scared of my own mind - I know how dark it can get in there.
Things seem bleak right now.
M helped me today to see the good, see the light. I don't know if it's too little too late. My mind is already a snarled tomb of negativity.
I'm trying though. I'm trying. I'm writing this out, I'll go on a walk today, maybe I'll even draw (I don't know what - I have no motivation or inspiration, but maybe). M wants me to work on my book. I looked through my writing for my book and realized I haven't worked on it for two years. Two years. Holy cow. I wouldn't even know where to start, how to start. With a single word, I guess. That's what M says.
So here I sit, depressed as hell, whining on the internet, not being positive at all. I should really change that. All of that.
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