Sometimes we say its okay, but it's not. Sometimes we say we're alright, but we're not.

It's funny how we hide behind words what we really feel and yet we are the words we make. My mind is easily distracted tonight and I’m finding it hard to focus. I'm looking out the window, trying to calm myself with the image of a gold curtain billowing in the night breeze. I close my eyes and imagine I’m sitting underneath a weeping willow tree surrounded by colorful spring flowers. The dress I’m wearing white and made of soft cotton and the gentle breeze touches my face and sweeps my long blonde hair behind my shoulders. I try to focus on the sound of the willow leaves rustling in the gentle wind but I find my mind wandering. I think of Virginia Woolf- I think of her madness and I wish my head would stop going in that direction.

Unpredictable … inconsistent… incoherent? My mind is searching for a word. Sometimes I will write 2 or 3 pages and abandon the writing because I'm unable to find the right words to express what it is I'm trying to say. It amazes me how many of my thoughts end up forgotten in "draft" form- never to be finished. ..thoughts that had meaning to someone inside of me, but cast aside by another who refuses to make room for a conflicting self.

My heart feels heavy, my chest heavy making it difficult to breathe, making me feel dizzy and disjointed. I wish people could see inside of me, understand me, but they don’t, they can’t. And so I write in words, what they cannot see. I write to express that which I am unable to speak. I write to express my feelings. When I'm in this place I am now, it's difficult to be with people, even those who show love, even those who show understanding.
I long for compassion ~ but I feel shameful and undeserving of care.
This thought makes me so happy-I could cry, it makes me so sad – I could laugh.The dark comedian in me is shouting, "get medicated” would ya?
I'm no longer making sense because I'm agitated and on edge.
I'm searching for a word- I'm thinking, you're thinking.
Is there morbid pleasure in wallowing in dark thoughts?
Sometimes there's this feeling inside of me that I don't completely comprehend. I know that there must be hope. And yet I wonder why I feel like I want to give everything up and fade away- leave it all behind.
No words of comfort can pacify the waves within me- no reading of anything *enlightening* can change the feeling- no warm *hug* could erase that enigmatic feeling. No- nothing seems to be working to get me back to my wandering feet.There's no suicidal thought- or anything heading to that evil trap- not tonight. I just feel so detached from everything and everyone.

I wish I no longer existed.
Life is a conundrum...Do I even have all of the pieces?