The Creeps

It's moments like this that are always the hardest. When I'm doing things, but not quite "busy" so to speak. I remind myself that self care is necessary for times like this, but it doesn't seem to help or at the least appeal to me. Even writing feels a bit forced, which may be why I start up my poetry again.

In poetry I can hide my meaning and be a bit more direct without being so actively confrontational.

The past few days have been emotionally draining and extremely trying for me. Not that, it hasn't been without rewards. I find myself looking for signs that things will get better, and keep not finding them. It's these times that the distractions start to creep in. I don't necessarily need to do anything specific, I just have to do something. My crutch of distraction and escapism is one that is trusty and reliable, but it is still a crutch.

My ability to express and vent my emotions has been stunted. I can talk about them, and convey them to people, but they still feel inside me. There is no exorcism in conveying ideas. While there is a pleasantness is understanding the commonality of people and theirs in kind, there is no catharsis there. In the past, my coping mechanisms have been crying, and cutting, and just depression. I'm trying to divert from those into something more productive, along with a change in my overall outlook. The new zen/okay-ness with a lot of things has been a positive step I think. Keeping busy, and trying to make plans on the weekdays will also help. That link, between my emotions, and my art, has always been elusive, and existentially frustrating. I feel like if I could bring those two together I'd have both a positive/productive outlet for the intense negative emotions and a hobby that I can push into a more creative outlet.

It is of course, easier said than done.

I can hold off the negativity. It just becomes more troublesome in the lonely setting of being in my apartment alone. That, has always been my problem. Hence trying to keep busy and visiting folks as much as possible. It helps to ward off the depression, but, it always seems to come creeping back in, like an ugly carpet that you hate, but can't seem to get rid of. You might think you can cut it out, but it involves a great deal of damage to the overall sense of self.

That said, there is a core issue at play, and I feel like I'm stuck in limbo. I know how to move on from a relationship, and I know how to be a functioning member of a relationship, but I'm stuck in a seemingly half way point between the two. I'm not sure where I stand, and where the relationship stands. I have my secret fears about what is going on, but I feel like I can't communicate those. Even If I did, I don't feel like I'd get an honest answer either way.

I've been told, above all, to take things slow, and I am. I just keep telling myself that I have agency, and I have control over my life and who is in it, and how things happen. If things end, it won't be because I haven't tried hard enough (romanticism) or because we are fundamentally incompatible (fatalism, another trap), but because we simply had our time, and that time came to an end. I say that over and over, as I cry in the shower, and as I go to bed at night. It helps, but it doesn't change the fact that I sleep alone.

It isn't set in stone, and all things are liable to change. That said, I've always been one to prepare for the writing that I see on the wall.