nov_silence (nov_silence) wrote in dissociatedfew,

sprinting through tired

A little over a week in inpatient, and two weeks in intensive outpatient. My soul feels tired. I have spurts of creativity. At leas my meds don't block my creative drive... but even that takes energy. Whie I haven't had runnimating thoughts, I have been a fiend about searching for jobs... Jobs that I can't work at for several weeks to come due to medical opinion. Sometimes I feel a certain rebellion rise up in me, and I think that I am ready to go to work, but then I really think about it" having to deal with lost of differenet people, initiatives, expectations... and I get so overwhelemed. At least I am not sleep 20 plus hours a day like I was a few weeks ago. I just felt like I had no purpose in life. I crave to feel in demand, my skills, my abilities, my drive all juiced up from being "on." Instead I feel like a rebellious 6 year old that stands in the doorway, flicking the lights off and on in the depths of my spirit. "I want to fly, I want to fly... heaven knows." Kayne said it very well.

I haven't spoken to my mother in almost two months. I admitted to my outpatient group members that I miss my parents and the love I never really felt that was there. It was something being torn up and out of my bodym like possessed mummy, choking and marinatingon the truth spoken aloud. I wept, sobbed, self-scolded and then wept some more. I am myself. As much as I have tried to tp deny it, hate it, spit upon and grind it beneath vehement-agressive heels. I was naked, explicitly so. The teflon fell away from my body and I took a painful step closer to the person, the self I am capable of being.... I don't know about "the self I destined to be." That shit is a little to philisophical for me. There is no room in Renee's in for screaming newborns demandig, love, care, compassion. So I stand outside of my own cellar door listening to the child within me, wimper, but only half-lost.

Radom questions for you readers: what career do you see me doing for the next three years. Forget kids, that shit will drop around 40 outside warped providence. And Bhudda knows that I have little to apologize for as this moment in time.

out, then in. Then out again.
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