I don’t want to write.

I am outside of myself lately.

My body is talking and I cannot understand a thing it says. The scale creeps higher and higher. I feel like I have rocks in my belly that are keeping me down – holding me back. I’m uncomfortable every moment of the day, like I just ate a meal that was entirely too big for me.

I want the days to end sooner. When I go to bed, I am disappointed in myself for the lack of productivity. And I know tomorrow will be the same, despite my willful intentions to the contrary.

For brief moments in time, I feel like myself, but my swollen, uncomfortable stomach reminds me I am not.

Time for doctor? Maybe. I fear a “pre-existing condition” label for my upcoming insurance change, so I sit with this and worry every day.

I’m putting up a fight against the things I don’t like in my life right now. I’m trying to “change the things I can.” I know the first step is to find a job. I’m trying. I visualize it. I just don’t want to wait for it.

I’m tired of waiting for things. I hate waiting.

But where is the balance? Pushing for things – trying to force the Universe to move my way… that doesn’t work. Waiting for things – passively sitting and watching the world go by at lightning speed doesn’t seem to work either. Where is the balance?

As much as I feel ready to re-enter the world, I am terrified of it. It’s as though I’ve been sleeping for the last 30 years, and I don’t recognize anything anymore. I don’t know how to “be” in this world.

I cling to my idealistic optimism like a security blanket, yet I trust no one.

I grew a hard, protective shell around myself and I feel stuck inside of it. I don’t belong here anymore, but I can’t find my way out.

I want to get out.

I hate this part of being a creative soul – the dark days are hell.