There is this sense of frustration percolating deep in my bones that I cant quite place. Sure, there are the obvious reasons for this feeling - the loneliness, those things unrequited, the lack of essentials needed for survival but there is more to it than that. There is  a sort of anxiousness that has welled up in the pit of my stomach, and it has fashioned itself into a little lead ball that weighs me down, causing me to feel an ongoing nervousness, spontaneous twitches. It has almost rendered my mind blank, for I cant stay focused, at a time when focus is especially vital to me. It seems that I am going through changes and growing pains, and though I have accepted that with a dull sense of resignation, my body, my overall uneasiness, discomfort in my own shoes tells me that my resignation is not so effective as Id like to pretend it is, that I am not quite okay with it at all, and that some sort of pro-action needs to be taken on my part to move me away from these things that arent quite emotions, arent quite feelings, because they leave me aloof, without sensation, apathetic, and it has been my understanding that emotions are those things that incite response, action. And there are days when I strive to be dynamic, but the function never follows and I just sit and wallow in this thing that I cant quite place. Mind, body, and soul are completely and utterly out of sync with each other right now, shooting off in a billion directions like microscopic shards of tiny glass, like grains of sand on a beach when touched by a heavy wave, and it seems Ive been hit with something, afflicted by something, but I cant place it, cant diagnose it, therefore a remedy isnt forthcoming, and I find myself walking around like a zombie, functioning minimally to get me through the routine of the cyclical 24 hours, those things I have to do, those things I have to say to not seem or look strange, but I am pretty strange, I believe, separated and disconnected many days. Maybe Im just waiting for something to happen, and this is the preparation stages, but it sucks to be partially numb, partially dead inside a bit, without ****** refuge anywhere in anyone anytime ever, on this island alone, with no sun shining, surrounded by an ocean of choices, none seem to be fitting quite correctly, searching in the dirt for clues and pieces, coming up only with dirty fingernails, worms in my hands.

toexist toexist
22-25, F
Mar 28, 2008