I had such a shitty afternoon that I came home and shoved the most horrible food in my face and then remembered that I still needed to put 5 miles on the books. Damn. Guess it’s going to be a late one on the treadmill while I let my stomach settle until then.
I’m in a really uncomfortable place right now, and I don’t want to be in it, nor do I know how to manage things until I can move out of it.
I’m wandering around in the woods, lonely, lost and tired, crying and walking in circles thinking one of the laps will magically provide an escape route to my castle in the clouds. But slowly my hope is fading, and I’m about ready to sit down and give up.
But what does that mean? Do I sit there and wait to be rescued, maybe starving myself to death in the process? Or is it so completely hopeless that I curl up in a ball beside a tree and try to fall asleep so I don’t feel anything anymore? Do I say fuck it and set up camp there, eating the tempting red poisonous berries?
Maybe that’s why the “stranded on a desert island” story is so popular. It’s just all a metaphor for feeling lost with no way out. There’s always that tiny bit of hopefulness – the message in a bottle – but the victim has to be creative and find smart ways to stay alive. It would be too easy to walk out into the sea and go down quietly.
I honestly don’t think I’ve ever felt this frustrated in my whole life. Nothing makes any sense. I’m starting to hallucinate and believe I see things that simply aren’t there – the things I want to see, not what actually is.
I am tormented by my desires.
It’s enough. It’s gone on long enough.