Life collage at nineteen
Life collage at nineteen
Fatigue can cause an absence of physical desire (an exhausted body isn't programmed to win races or make babies), a loss of mental acuity, and/or a flat emotional profile.
At times, this may reach the level of depression. One day a client oozed into my office, slumped into a chair, and said she was depressed-only she said it so slowly that I thought she said "deep rest." In a way, this was accurate. Depression can be part of a general shutdown, meant to turn us toward healing. A tired body, a tired mind, a tired heart can't-and shouldn't-be passionate about anything but rest. So if you're exhausted, care for yourself. Curl up with the cat and watch TV, sleep, read, sleep some more. Eventually, you'll wake up feeling like it's time to go for a swim. One important caveat: If you aren't feeling refreshed after a couple of weeks' rest, it's time to see a doctor. You may have a condition, such as a chemical imbalance, that can be alleviated only through professional care.
I should have been less... Less.
"How could I tell her I was too afraid to leave? Too frightened to go to the store and be overwhelmed by the mob, pushed and shoved, waiting forever to be heard by the man behind the counter? She didn’t ask why I wouldn’t go, and I didn’t know how to tell her. She thought I simply wouldn’t help her; it was all about her, she was sure. But I didn’t know yet how to speak up in a store, or how to be seen in a crowd of towering adults, and I couldn’t tolerate the pain of it. Having failed at being a part of things, I had become too good at being separate. " thank you barbara
I am now nineteen, still wallowing, deeper in this pit I have created for myself. People around me don't make any sense and I still can't talk to them, distill the true things within our conversations, everything is so much nonsense, nothing safe or genuine or true. Still can't make myself happy. This dense inner life I have created for myself is cutting me off from e'eryone else. The only things I have are images. When I am 20, I will be the person curled up in foetal position on the back of the intercity bus around a book, layers and layers of protective covering shielding me from the rain, I will be wearing a hipster hat and beautiful shoes and people will think I am beautiful. I will never speak. I will fall apart at the slightest touch. A breath, a puff of talk from anyone else will shatter me.
I wish I was the same as other people, I wish they could understand me, I wish I could understand them. I want to care more, a skeleton life
"You live up in your head
Scared of every little noise
Someone's always breaking in accidentally
Using nothing but their voice
Shrill and small
Echo down the hall
Repeating pet names
Seeing it in your eyes
You're only passing by"
thank you elliott smith