So I started writing this thing about loneliness as I do feel a bit lonely at the moment. It was not a happy writing and it was not something I wanted to write. I didn’t even feel compelled to write it, even though that is what was coming forward. And so I scrapped it and now I’m writing this. I’m writing in a space where I am writing about whatever it is I’m writing about. I’m writing about this and that, and I feel lonely and isolated, but I’m going to keep on writing and I’m going to push against this feeling.

Sometimes, I feel, there is a need to push against that which might encase us. Sometimes you need to look at how to step away from whatever it is that you’re feeling. You need to let go, move on and go from there. Go to wherever lies ahead. Go to the good things and the other bad things, too. And right now that is what I am trying to do, but I don’t know if I can actually do it. I don’t know if I can actually push against and walk away from this loneliness, and so I think I might have to sit with it and hope for the best. Hope it all passes and then I get to go to wherever from there.

It’s not a long day. It feels quite compressed, in fact. I don’t know how or why, and I feel I might need to go for a walk and stretch my legs, and see if I still feel the same once I get back. I don’t know. I’m full of uncertainty and conflicted thoughts, and I want to go back to bed and rest. I want to hide from the world for a while, and just disappear, and yet I yearn for comfort. I yearn for touch, and I yearn to not be writing in this manner.

There’s a kind of blandness that is washing over everything, and I’m feeling myself detach from that which is around me. I’m feeling more and more like a spectator rather than a participant, and I’m feeling like I’m just disappearing. Going away, becoming nothing. Feeling everything, and isolated from being able to talk to people about it.

It’s becoming all miserable again.

I don’t want to do this misery writing. I just want to get on with my day. Two years ago I was incredibly stressed and worn out, and then a little under two years ago I was happy. I was elated. I felt blissful about things, and then it all went away last year. I thought I was doing better, but I’m not. I feel lonely, and I know that right now it’s just me feeling down about things, but it still hurts. It still stings, and it’s not great.

With that all being said, I still feel compelled to keep pushing and weathering this. This will pass, and tomorrow will always be new.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:34:72

I’m a bit behind so you’re going to see another influx of uploading.

This one, I was hoping to not sink into the sadness but that’s what happened. I tried to at least end on a less downbeat note and it kind of worked, kind of didn’t.

Written at work.