I keep looking in boxes, trying to find something that makes it easier. That eases me and lets me rest.
I’m making piles of all the things I touch and hiding behind and between them.
I’m wandering aimlessly, hoping, though I’m not sure what for.
Is this that lonely feeling? Is this emptiness or just unease? What am I wanting and how do I stop wanting because I cannot find something that I do not know or understand or stand a chance of recognizing even if I were to stumble upon it, blindly, eyes open but glazed over.
All the light bulbs that went off have dimmed. The realizations forgotten until realized again. Circumstances shifting but still existing with the same purpose.
Lessons learned but not retained.
I keep going through the motions, purposeless.
I rally and plan and start in only to wake up running in place. Trying not to fall much farther behind. Trying to hold on.
Watching myself. Self-awareness as a sometimes blessing; as a taunt.
Sometimes it becomes undeniably clear that for everything I’ve changed I’ve remained the same.
Still sad. Still scared. Still lost. Still lonely. Still all-too-still.
Always moving yet going no where. Returning with an overwhelming sense of deja vu. And a little familiar dread. And a little anxious relief.