Feeling Half Alive

Window is open. I can’t bring myself to pull the blind up all the way. It bangs loudly against the metal frame with every burst of air.

I feel a strange up and down in my emotions. One moment I feel excited and ready to try something new, and the next I am afraid of rejection and hide back in my bed. Half alive. Not even fully in the light, the light is on in the distance and the dark of the night doesn’t comfort me, but it does give me companionship.

I miss feeling invigorated, my heart racing. Excited, believing in life. I’m settling too far into this place, I don’t like it. I don’t like having to establish long and meaningful relationships with too many people.

I prefer them to not know me, to not know my weaknesses. I want to remain an enigma. A mysterious traveler whose life sounds amazingly interesting and outrageous. My story as a story. As one I could tell the world. One where I’m known for the things I’ve done and not the weak person I am.

I am a walking mess. The truth of my life is that I’m sick all the time, I’m boring as fuck, I work 24/7. I spend most of my time on my computer trying to work.

Escaping into my work and reading and attempting to build a career.

Having to make friends with people who are unlike me is frustrating and tedious. Even worse if they are too much like me. If they are quiet and withdrawn then I can’t draw on their energy to fake it.

My self is a contradiction. I want to do what I want without judgment but it is impossible. My choices are not traditional, I don’t fit into a group. I never have.

I just keep thinking of the same thoughts over and over. Most of which include wanting to stay in bed until noon. Self-depreciating thoughts play on repeat.

They’re dulled now, I hardly notice them. I am still affected by them, even if I can’t make out the exact words. I’ve dulled the phrases. No longer do I hear, “You are awful.” “Everyone hates you.” “Everything bad that happens is your fault.” “You could have saved your dad’s life, if only you hadn’t been so weak and selfish.”

Instead it’s a muffled cry of desperation. An angry clawing on a closed door. I hear “You are loved” over and over in my head. It works to balance out the self-hate, but it doesn’t erase it.