the illusion of progress.

It’s hard to care for something that doesn’t concern you anymore.

It’s hard to care for anything––including yourself––when this mood consumes you.

I want to run away, but I haven’t got the energy to even barely pick up my feet and leave the house. After my therapy session today, I forced myself to go for a walk around the block a few times. I hadn’t left my house in over a week. The days have always sort of melted together before this quarantine, so they continue to do so, just maybe a little bit more prominently. It’s not like my ways of living have changed much, I’ve always been a hermit. But with the series of events that have been happening this year, I just want to run far, far, far away and combust. But the lack of energy… you see my dilemma?

I’m trying to focus and calculate all that I need to do, or should do, and I’m just not really making any progress. I’m stuck in one spot, and even though I’m looking around and can see all the visible ways to escape where I currently stand, I can’t make a move.

Why is everything so heavy?

Any effort I make in an attempt to make progress is lost somewhere along the way. I’m slipping away. Being chased away by the dark thoughts in my mind and the impending doom of the reality I live in. My hope is lost. I only breathe and live to see another day because I have to. It’s the right thing to do… right? This is just life now. I feel helpless and even more imprisoned, physically. I look out the window and wonder if this is just how it’s going to be forever. What kind of reality can be shaped now?

The whole world has been put on hold, and I’m shutting down more.

I should be doing more with this time I have stuck in my room. I should be, but I’m not. I’m just withering away like a candle. The inspiration in me is gone. It’s hard to even write this. I don’t know what to say. Is there anything to really say?

I have a massive headache. Maybe I should just stop writing here.

I’m just writing this out in hopes inspiration will find its way back to me… it seems it’s not planning on coming to me today.


I hope it comes back.
And soon.



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These are the musings of a 32 y/o dreamer, wisher and doer. All my posts are authentic; I write what's in my heart.

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