pain.
i’m not accustomed to being so withdrawn.
ordinarily, whenever i run into a bout of difficulty, i still manage to preserve a handful of outlets to the closest people in my life. traditionally, these would include avni, sara and gwen, along with a couple of others.
not this time.
in fact, i’m finding tremendous difficulty in even elucidating my feelings in writing. even to myself. it’s as if the maelstrom i’m enduring deep in my core is very heavily sealed from being manifested in any outward manner. i’m not sure if this is some kind of self-protection mechanism, but i do know that i feel imprisoned.
how is it that i could have gone from being so energetic, vivacious, optimistic, and hopeful just six months ago, having the capacity to be there for the people in my life and to help or mentor them as if it were my second-nature — to being frightened, isolated, hopeless, exhausted, feeling as if i have little to show for being twenty-nine and wondering why i feel so much ripping pain in my heart whenever someone tries to cheer me up?
why is it that i went from feeling like i understood people and circumstances so well (and if i didn’t, i’d at least find a way to understand a little more conclusively) to feeling as if i’m so removed from humanity that i don’t even understand myself?
did i fuck up? if i did, then where?
why did it just take me fifteen minutes just to write this, when i’m otherwise so naturally inclined to writing as a natural conduit for my thoughts, expressions and ideas?
why don’t i feel courageous? why do i feel so scared?
why do i sound like a mere shadow of myself right now, rather than a comprehensive embodiment of me?
why couldn’t i administer my prescription medication today (and for those unaware, they don’t fall into the class of anti-depressants or anything on that calibre)?
why do i feel like a professional failure at what i *thought* i was qualified to do, only to be dismissed by an agency this week? why do i horribly undercharge my clients, only to frustrate myself by doing far more work than that compensation should reflect?
why doesn’t my favourite music move me?
why can’t i shake this newly-acquired debt following my move to Seattle?
why does it feel like my girlfriend here and i are completely unable to understand each other?
why do i feel so trapped and disempowered to speak whenever she goes out to her van with her pipe and THC and bakes?
why do i feel like such the pariah? or the slacker? or the disappointment?
why does it feel like my world just collapses when a meager paycheque that was supposed to arrive on Tuesday gets lost in the mail, preventing me from depositing it and trying to reduce my bills?
why does it feel like there was a point of no return that i passed sometime in the last three or four months?
why do i get this sensation that i’m never going to make it into university, no matter what i do? i mean, there’s this SAT i haven’t taken. i’m almost thirty, and when i see an art director who’s in her early-to-mid twenties being productive and doing *exactly* the kind of work (and intensity) upon which i thrive — and yet, i’ve never *really* done that in any kind of agency capacity — i wonder where exactly i went wrong, despite six to ten years experience.
why does it hurt when my heart misses the beat?
why do i cry when i think about the little things that make me happy? why did listening to that two-disc holiday compilation i made in december 1999 hurt so much to hear last night?
where’s my family?
why do i feel like a bad creature?
what did i do wrong?
i can’t even write a coherent thought process. this is a bad sign.