All this that is more than a wish is a memory.
All this that is ceases to be.
All is revealed the obvious door opens nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing left.
Nothing left.
Nothing left to chance.
Gave them our reactions, and explosions, all that we are.
For graphs of passions and charts of stars.
It's how ending starts.
Answers.
How ending starts.
Ending starts with answers.
Answers.
I feel like I'm missing my life. I know that sounds strange, but it's so true. I feel like I'm living my life in a daze. It lacks feeling and passion. It's like nothing can touch me. I'm in this weird, desensitized bubble. I'm trying to remember a feeling other than tired or drunk or frustrated or angry and it's not happening. Not to say that I'm never smiling or laughing, because I definitely am at times, but generally I feel nothing fully anymore. I don't know if that's how it becomes when you get older or not, but it just seems wrong. I miss being touched. Sweet touches. Hair tucked behind the ear, kiss on the forehead, none-obligatory, sober touches. I hate that that's missing. And I shouldn't feel like a poser in my own life the way I do when I'm at work. I'm constantly afraid I'll be found out, I'll be called out as a fraud for not having a special ed degree but being a special ed teacher. And then, when I can clearly see a solution to that particular problem by getting certified, I can't do it. I can't go through with it but I don't know why. I don't feel real anymore. I feel like I'm losing myself to this monotony and I have no idea how to come back from it. I'm not excited about anything anymore. I don't care. There have been other times in my life when this sort of apathy took over me, but then it made sense. I was failing school, I was broken-hearted, I was alone. But now, I don't have an explanation. The answers aren't obvious this time and I physically feel like I'm burning up with wanting as I'm trying to figure out what is happening to me. Or not happening. My stomach is doing the thing where it flips and my arms tingle and my breathing changes. My fingertips get cold, my face gets hot, and I can't make it stop. No matter how many times I try to cool my face with my hands, I can't.
I thought things would be different. I thought maybe, maybe this time, helping these kids with their crazy, intense problems would make me feel like I was actually doing something worthwhile, but I feel like I'm failing them in so many ways just by not knowing enough or not having the words that they need to hear in that moment when the death of their father washes over them or their anger gets the best of them or their anxiety is overwhelming or their meds run out. But none of it's enough and I'm back to feeling helpless and numb. And never good enough. It's not the same as before in the years when I couldn't get out of bed, but that just makes it a little bit scarier. Every time I think I'm done with these moments they come back again. It's like being haunted.
All is revealed the obvious door opens nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing left.
Nothing left.
Nothing left to chance.
Gave them our reactions, and explosions, all that we are.
For graphs of passions and charts of stars.
It's how ending starts.
Answers.
How ending starts.
Ending starts with answers.
Answers.
I feel like I'm missing my life. I know that sounds strange, but it's so true. I feel like I'm living my life in a daze. It lacks feeling and passion. It's like nothing can touch me. I'm in this weird, desensitized bubble. I'm trying to remember a feeling other than tired or drunk or frustrated or angry and it's not happening. Not to say that I'm never smiling or laughing, because I definitely am at times, but generally I feel nothing fully anymore. I don't know if that's how it becomes when you get older or not, but it just seems wrong. I miss being touched. Sweet touches. Hair tucked behind the ear, kiss on the forehead, none-obligatory, sober touches. I hate that that's missing. And I shouldn't feel like a poser in my own life the way I do when I'm at work. I'm constantly afraid I'll be found out, I'll be called out as a fraud for not having a special ed degree but being a special ed teacher. And then, when I can clearly see a solution to that particular problem by getting certified, I can't do it. I can't go through with it but I don't know why. I don't feel real anymore. I feel like I'm losing myself to this monotony and I have no idea how to come back from it. I'm not excited about anything anymore. I don't care. There have been other times in my life when this sort of apathy took over me, but then it made sense. I was failing school, I was broken-hearted, I was alone. But now, I don't have an explanation. The answers aren't obvious this time and I physically feel like I'm burning up with wanting as I'm trying to figure out what is happening to me. Or not happening. My stomach is doing the thing where it flips and my arms tingle and my breathing changes. My fingertips get cold, my face gets hot, and I can't make it stop. No matter how many times I try to cool my face with my hands, I can't.
I thought things would be different. I thought maybe, maybe this time, helping these kids with their crazy, intense problems would make me feel like I was actually doing something worthwhile, but I feel like I'm failing them in so many ways just by not knowing enough or not having the words that they need to hear in that moment when the death of their father washes over them or their anger gets the best of them or their anxiety is overwhelming or their meds run out. But none of it's enough and I'm back to feeling helpless and numb. And never good enough. It's not the same as before in the years when I couldn't get out of bed, but that just makes it a little bit scarier. Every time I think I'm done with these moments they come back again. It's like being haunted.