Today words mean nothing.
I feel as if my heart is being ripped from my chest and as if my wind-pipe is narrowing and I'm choking on every breath I take. I don't want to be here anymore.
Even the most basic of tasks are proving too much, but in some respects they're easier than ever, because they seem subconcious.
Tomorrow I'll pretend to be okay, not even intentionally; I just have some preoccupation with maintaining a strong deamour to the extent that I no longer have to try. Sometimes I think I must be so see through, but still noone seems to notice. It's fine, I don't want them to.
I've got a back-log of work from November; I know I should be doing it now instead of complaining about it and blogging, but honestly, I am finding it incredibly hard to care. I have wanted this for the past four years, yet now it's become a possibility, I just don't want it. Infact, it's not that I don't want it- I want to want this. I really do. But I can't.
I don't intentionally leave work till the last minute; I'll meticulously plan for weeks on end until I have established the content and the structure I want to run with, but when it comes to writing, I just can't do it. It's like I know what to do and how to do it, but I physically can't. And I wish I could.
Today, I am so ready to give it all up.
This saddened me more than you could ever know, nearly made me cry infact.
ReplyDeleteIf you give up, so will I.