I’ve had a cold for three days. I am suffering from headaches and episodes of coughing. Even as I type now I am heavily dosed up on a combination of paracetamol, codeine, herbs and minerals. I can barely speak without coughing, which has been a strange experience for me. I tend to express my frustration with my voice. I have been reluctant to admit it, I suppose, but I find myself feeling frustrated a lot.
I am concerned that my life doesn’t amount to much. I acknowledge uneasily that I seem to have a revolving door of friends and acquaintances. I have been on this creative recovery for three weeks and I am becoming concerned that there might be nothing to ‘recover.’ Perhaps I am as boring as I always suspected. Wouldn’t that be something?
I just want one true friend. I just want some sense of purpose in my life. I want to feel like I’m here for a reason – and that I know what that reason is! Because right now I don’t want to befriend anyone, less they abandon me. I don’t seem to want to do anything but nurse old wounds. Wounds I have said a million times before were healing. Was I just lying to myself? It is difficult to know.
I have a sorrow I don’t know what to do with. I’ve tried pretending it doesn’t exist; I’ve tried surrendering to it entirely. I don’t want to sit around harbouring nostalgia for ‘better times’ but, still, I am. It is as if I knew less back then, but felt more, felt things that were real – things that were of substance. Things that were meaningful. That is what I crave mostly; meaning.
I took this time off in a hope to get to know myself better, but, frankly, I am now more confused than ever. I am more alone than ever. I am more direction-less than ever.
I don’t know what to do.
