Saturday, 9 April 2016

Bitch

I'm in love with the freedom of speech
Bleached white driftwood washed up on a beach
Rude health, electricity
My life is rich and full

So why'd I bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch?


My life is neither rich nor full. I am not rich; resources I have, but seldom use; friends I have, but seldom see; love I have, but seldom appreciate. My movements seem slow and stilted; my brain - though moving rapidly as it always has - is never settled. Blessed though I may have been with "time off" over the past two weeks, it barely seems enough. Aware as I am that I have, by some measure, achieved something, it hardly seems to be of much value. There has been no reward - financial or otherwise.

I do not demand much. I've always had problems convincing myself that I am deserving of anything positive. When I ask - and it takes strength to do so - I almost always get a no.

So why try?

Overweight though I am, and aware of the heat emitting from my body, I do not feel full. I feel as a hollow shell may - moving, breathing, talking, eating, heart beating - but with an absence of sense of purpose or the fabled light at the end of the tunnel. I have yet to even enter a tunnel. I am merely floating in the void, suspended in light and unwilling to descend and let my feet touch the ground. I'm not ready.

I am plagued, constantly, by the idea that there is much left to do that has yet to be done. I am becoming impatient. I need to be told what is to happen, what it is that I am meant to do. For every slice of a Hydra's head, two grow in its place. The notion that there will never come a day when I can do "nothing" disturbs me. A spectre of unfinished tasks hangs overhead without definition of what tasks those are.

If I can't specify, how can I do them?

When I awake, I wish myself asleep. When trying to sleep, I remain awake. I'm not ready for work next week; it seems fruitless, vague understanding of timing and goals to be achieved stymied by a rush forwards, propelled by assumed knowledge (of which I have precious little). I wish to socialise, to contribute, to belong, yet I fear groups of people in which I feel I have no place or am unwelcome. I have dreams in which people who I once considered dear friends are cold and disassociating. I haven't willingly burned any bridges, so why do I fear?

I am wasting time.

There is something beyond my grasp and I have no knowledge of what it is... so I don't reach for it.

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