I am unhappy here.
In this place in my life.
I am unhappy.
Never in my existence do I think I have ever said that.
Sad, yes. Hurt, you bet. Bored, angry, frustrated… all of the above.
Simply unhappy?
…I’ve always found an outlet to distract.
One that fulfills... instead.
Or discovered something deeper.
This time, I feel unable to redirect my attentions. I do not have the energy to spend getting underneath my own surfaces—the ground has frozen harder than ever before.
I am directionless.
Plagued with the understanding that I am in a place in my life when I can choose to just let go and do…or can bide more time…and regret every second.
I don’t do well putting that sort of pressure on my every moment.
No person can thrive in that kind of environment.
Perhaps my reality is that I am actually obsessed with squeezing the life out of every day.
And in doing that, I am suffocating myself out of it.
Snuffing out life’s goodness because I’m too busy focusing on it.
„Space to be human“ is losing its meaning.
Its impact is becoming non-existant.
Is that what happens with all things cherished?
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