I want to say something profound. I need to say something meaningful. I wish I could stay focused. Sometimes I’m looking through the darkness into the light. Other moments I am so overwhelmed by the darkness that I begin to suffocate under the pressure of all this. Yet there are also moments where I can pretend I see the light, make believe that I am ok, smile, laugh, create the facade that throws even me for a loop. But then night comes, and the facade dissipates. The people go to bed and the light seems 8 hours away. It is then that I can recognize the act and begin to despise the theatrical elements of my day. It is then that I realize I am pushing away everyone who forces me to be real, because then I can’t play make pretend. But I don’t want to be real. I need it, but I don’t want it. My very soul is conflicted with who I am and who I want to be in these moments. It is this struggle that exhausts me. I am left not caring, scoffing at the ridiculousness of other people’s small problems in comparison to my stupidly large ones, instead of just loving them where they are. I hate that. I hate how I don’t have the energy to be me, that I revert to inconsiderate, wiser than thou asshole. And you know what, yes, it is completely understandable for me to feel these things. But these things aren’t me and I can’t stand not being me. I can’t stand how my pain transforms me. But with that said, I still can’t get my ass off this couch and deal with anything. Giving up is too easy, but moving forward is too ominous. So I just sit around and wait. Wait for the moment when I can no longer tolerate the stench of stagnant life, and am compelled to move forward. That time is coming… soon.