Being outside, in a coffee shop, in public, isn’t working as well as I wish it would. I’m about to break down and cry. Why? Because I am overwhelmed with the failures in my life. (And there go the tears).
I don’t want to be near anyone I know right now. But at the same time, I want a loved one to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay.
I don’t think I’m ready for a new job. But I can’t stay all cooped up at home either. There are bills to be paid and meals to be made. (No, ‘My, I’m not ready to go back home with you either. Visits are good, but I can’t go back there yet.)
I wish I was more articulate or expressive like Twenty. Or Lily. Or Sly. Or Lara. Or Ellise. Or Danielle. Despite what they’re going through, despite how life’s tricks play on them, they manage to get two things right: writing and inspiring others.
Me? I don’t know what I’ve been doing right. No, I don’t have an awful, terrible life where nothing goes right. I have a wonderful loving family and a very supportive bestfriend. But what have I done right?
It seems that for every time I rise up against my illness, I plummet back down harder. Didn’t they say that the lower you get, the higher you bounce back up? It feels the opposite is happening to me. I feel trapped in a vicious cycle. Trapped in my head. As if behind bars, looking out into all the beautiful things I cannot reach.