Release

I need this.  I honest to god need this.  And I hate that.  I hate that I'm clinging to existence because of this simple release.  I keep wanting to write and not knowing what to say.  I want something to hurt.  I need it to hurt.  But I can't do that.  So someone else has to.

I think I finally learned to respect myself.  Or something.  Because if this is respect, then I wish I'd never found it.  If this is as good as it gets, then I wish it hadn't gotten this good because at least I used to feel something.  I don't feel anything anymore.  It doesn't hurt.  It doesn't feel good.  It just feels empty.  And I don't know how to fill that emptiness with anything other than hurt.  I don't know what it's like to have happy feelings that last more than a few days, if that.

Every day, I'm growing more distant.  It gets harder to talk to people.  I don't know what to say or do.  I don't know how to fill free time, now that I have it.  So all I can do is sit here and wonder why this isn't working, wonder what the fuck happened to my life that I don't know how to have a conversation, that I can't even find something that interests me enough to become a hobby.  This couch is starting to mold to me, to the precise way I sit on it.

Where did my motivation go?  I manage to get up every morning, to do things that are good for me during the day.  But why can't I function?  Why can't I speak?  How is it that I have absolutely nothing to say anymore?

It'll change eventually.  I know it will.  It always does.  But I don't know when.  And I don't know how.  And I don't seem to be able to do anything to hurry the process along.