I've been feeling pretty disconnected from myself lately. I don't look like "me." I don't sound like "me." I don't think like "me." I talk to less people than "me." I'm less religious than "me."
The "me" that I am around other people, the "me" I am true to, the "me" I am when me's are the only ones around. The one with a name, with a face. With insecurities and manic swings. With moments of regret and of sadness.
That's not the one with the anxieties, though. The one with thoughts that consume it. The one not proud of who it was, and less proud even of who it is now. The one that spends nights restless, phone in hand trying to read something, to concentrate on anything, to feel alive again. If it ever was.
The one that overthinks the smallest things. That diagnoses itself because life makes no sense to it anymore. The one who creates things, beautifully dangerous things, that are never executed because it cannot for the life of it, quit being a wally and simply get shit done.
Classes are getting harder to learn from. Interactions with people are feeling more and more fleeting, coming and going not when it needs them, but when the others feel like they can.
Because everyone struggles with themselves at some points or another. But it won't allow itself to be at least a little jealous every so often.
So it will bury itself in the garden and hope, pray, to someday grow into something as great as you.
YOU ARE READING
shawshank
Poetry🥀 sometimes it gets better. and sometimes it doesn't. cover by dilfzasupremacy on tumblr
