Heavy days. Days that weigh you down. Very easy to spend life living them and little else. It’s tough out there. It’s tough in here. It’s tough everywhere.

I’m feeling drained and empty, and riding a crash out. Riding it out, hoping it doesn’t get worse. Waiting to pull up, to reorient and get back on with living. Just tired, worn out. Emotionally flat.

I looked in a mirror and saw misery staring back. Sorrow, dejection, etc. A few weeks ago I was happy, or at least close to feeling happy. I don’t know what I was feeling, but I know that, right now, I’m not feeling it.

Things come and go. Emotions change, people get old. Thoughts change. How I was thinking fourteen years ago is different to how I’m thinking now. Everything takes energy and energy needs to be maintained. But the lows, they hit so hard and they don’t even necessarily hit suddenly, either.

I feel like I’m just zoning out and screaming, in a manner of speaking. I feel like everything is twisting inward and I’m pointing at myself, and I’m looking across an empty space. An open, empty space that stretches on featureless, plain and placid. It offers nothing and is as much a void as it is not, and it’s dark and quiet, and cold. Stars hang above and eventually some features reveal themselves, hard and rocky, geological structures that know more about the name of the wind than any human ever will.

And somewhere I am there, or at least a figure of myself, and it’s standing there, suddenly, near me. Standing and staring and looking at me, or rather, through me.

I feel lost and confused, and I’m tired and distressed and winding down. Crashing out. Riding it, but I have questions. I wonder if I am actually a person who is trying to be better, or if I’ve just been really good at convincing myself that I am good. Maybe I am a shitty person and there’s no dodging it anymore.

There’s so much expectation to be a certain way and it’s burning me out, and I just don’t want to interact anymore. I want to lock myself away, and this facsimile of me in this space keeps staring through me, looking at what holds me together and why I am the way I am. It takes me in deep and sees what is there, and I wonder, because it does little else other than stare. It continues to stare and I feel beholden, almost. I feel I’ve little choice in the matter, but I look around. I try to work out where the truth lies, but I can’t. Not right now. I’m empty and hurting and feeling sorry for myself, and I just need to be held. Or rather, I want to be held and I can’t, and that’s okay.

And so I look to the figure, and I walk past into this expanse, and I hope for some reprieve.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 08:05:44

Sometimes I wonder if it is a good time to write, and perhaps I should hold back more often than I do. This bit of writing makes me wonder as to if I should be comfortable with publishing myself.

Written at work.