I seem to have fallen into a pit again, the kind of pit where I can’t remember that I have friends and good things in my life or worst of all – how to write. I’ve called it many names before, stress, fatigue, ODing, PMS, a bad mood. But it is all that and more.
I don’t have anything to say and all I can feel is a stillness inside myself. It’s not a peaceful stillness, not a happy stillness, not even a mournful stillness. It’s just a nothing stillness. It’s dark but not in the horror scene way. Those are loud and pulsing with life. This feels like a closed room that has lain shut for many years.
Yet, there are faint wisps of things that are neither echoes nor memories. I’ve been here before. And it’s always like having forgotten how to walk and teaching myself the first steps one…two….three again before I’m suddenly one with knowledge and integrated with the world again.
So I’m writing this. Recalling from muscle memory how to grasp ideas and how to clothe them in words. In the default instinctual actions, somewhere active living will come again.
Someone called my blog honest. Someone else called it courageous and raw. I met some new people. All those times, I had to struggle for reactions, for responses and for words. It’s not hurt or fatigue. It’s as if I don’t remember how to be me anymore.
I am getting back into a health regime. I gave up tea about two and a half weeks ago. I’ve been reasonably regular at the gym, even during my period. And while I haven’t always managed to sleep on time, I’ve been getting up more or less on schedule. The body feels a bit less battered. And in equal measure, a small deviance shows up brighter and hotter. But this is all on the outside.
Does the world know the body is just a cloth coat hung on air?
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