I feel like I’m in a sinking ship. There’s a port with a space for me and my ship and everything I’ve ever wanted on it but it’s just sinking. And I can’t keep up with the water pouring in. I can only repair the damages half assed before something else capsizes me.
I focus on my mental health. I set boundaries for my physical health as were in a pandemic and having to quarantine isn’t really something someone in my shoes can afford to do.
I have panic attacks as I prepare to clean a house. I fear I’m due for another attack. When will it strike? Like lightning it continues to strike, only this kind doesn’t come with the clouds of warning. So I anticipate. Constantly.
I’m endlessly tortured by those who were supposed to care and didnt. Who were supposed to take my side but didn’t. Then there’s the 99.9% remaining that just don’t know what to do. Which is fine. I mean, I don’t know either.
I continue backing away slowly, further into solitude so I can focus. It’s eerily quiet in my solitude and it’s oddly relaxing and comforting yet incredibly sad and lonely.
I am tired. Once I have to explain myself deeper than a minimal effort I am exhausted. I’m so tired of fighting and working so hard to maintain the minimum of productivity.
I’m lost, I’m stuck, I’m drowning.
It seems I’ll have to swim the rest of the way and show up without a boat.
