ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"Something unheard of / some kind of moving thing / something unseen / some hand is motioning / to rise, to rise, to rise.\" - Soul Coughing I'm in another funk. It's been a long time since I've fallen into one of these. I almost thought that I was better. That I was healed. That things were different. They're not. I'm still diseased. Still grasping at strands of sanity and lacerating my hands. I hate this. Hate feeling this way. I shut down. I push everyone away. I curl up inside of myself and quiver, pulse with my retarded heart beat. It's so slow that I can hardly feel it. Sometimes I think it's not there. That it's stopped. That I'm dead but too enraptured with the day-to-day hubbub of life to realize it. I don't know what is happening to me. Where this funk has come from. But I can't deny its reality. It's very real and it's very now and it is eating me alive. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I want it to go. I want it to leave. I want to be myself again. To tell my friends that I love them and gather them close to me and squeeze them and feel their life and have them feel mine. But I can't do that. I can't escape this funk that has cast its shadow over my entire being. Like a dark wind that can't be seen but is real, nonetheless. It's times like these that I think that I really do need help. Serious professional help. That maybe I can't fix all of my problems by myself. That maybe one day time will cease to be the healer that it has been in the past and I'll need something more concrete and effective. In case I haven't mentioned it, I hate this. 2:00 p.m. - 2004-03-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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