Today I managed to get up, get dressed, go for a nice long run, attend all my lectures and eat well.
Today I ticked some of the boxes I count as the bare minimum for existing. I’ve not done anything creative. I’ve not caught up on anything, just bobbed level. And I’m tired. And restless, dissatisfied and lonely.
I’ve not let myself do any of the self-destructive things I usually do to numb the feeling. So I’m sitting with it, observing it.
It is very uncomfortable. Not a deep howling pain to make me cry and scream. More a persistent niggle, like a finger repeatedly poking at my ribs, unignorable.
I can’t just be. In between cups of coffee, meals, phone calls and hugs, I only exist to travel to the next pit stop. Without the support of those crutches, I drag along the floor. I’ve no innate buoyancy, no inherent okay-ness.
Today I’ve had all the coffee, food, company and touch I’m going to get. So I’m just sitting with that vague empty feeling, refusing to throw anything else into the chasm.