I’m feeling very stuck. Usually when I’m sad, or down, I’ve been able to put pen to paper, so to speak, and write my feelings away. Every time I sit down to write, though, I seem to draw up a blank. Or I write pages and pages of nonsense that won’t serve anyone to read. Therapeutic for me to get out, perhaps, but I think it might have people far too concerned for my sanity than they need to be.
So here I sit, thinking about all the things I would say if I could, what I would talk about. I’d talk about how I’m not very happy right now. I’m feeling stuck in my writing, but I think it’s because I’m stuck in my life. I feel like at this moment there is no room for any forward motion for me right now, and that is not a state that I enjoy being in. I’m a planner, I like to work toward goals, have plans of action, have dreams. I feel like those have come to a halt for the moment and my body, my brain, which are conditioned to be moving forward have stopped like feet in freshly poured cement.
There’s an end to some of this, there has to be or I would entirely lose my mind. I’ve figured out what I have the power to change and have taken action to change them. That just needs time. A few months and that part of my life will be moving again.
Some parts won’t though. Some parts will probably be up in the air for a very long time. I’m not sure how long I can manage to make that work without cracking. Most of the time it seems beyond worth it. What’s a matter of a couple of years in the grand scheme of life? Won’t I look back on this time and remember how silly and small I felt, and be so glad that I waited? But another part of me, the part that wins over on sad grey days like this one, make me think that there may never be a conclusion. I don’t know how to deal with this but I do know that it’s far too soon to make any kind of decision yet, so here I sit, my brain a flurry of strange and scary and exciting and wonderful thoughts, and nothing to channel this energy into.
There’s no right answer. I get a lot of disapproving stares and words of concern. I get support and knowing nods. But they don’t know. They aren’t there for every whispered secret, every slow dance, every small act of kindness. They don’t see how nobody else has ever known me so well.
I just want to fly above my life for a little bit. It’s too much for me right now.
