This two weeks have been particularly harsh. Forced to go alone through the day (metaphorically), I’ve been dragging myself from day to day. I would love to say that I’m stronger now, that I’m better prepared to deal with bad days. After all, I did try to pick up a routine (and at least I’ve finally put work into my health) and look for other venues to keep my mind entertained enough to not think about… things. Maybe even start working towards my dreams instead of merely thinking about them.
But I’m not. I don’t feel stronger. Instead, I feel closer to the breaking point. Torn between saying something or simply staying quiet and adjusting my expectations, the stress slowly builds up on my mind as I suffer from
wanting needing more than what I have. Slowly, I feel myself give in… closer to betraying my own principles and who I am in hopes of finding some respite.
I’m desperately holding on to the few things that I have, even if they only appear for a few fleeting moments, while frantically trying to find more.