“I just want to sleep, but I can’t.  I want to cry, but I can’t.  I want the world to stop while I deal with this, but it can’t.”

I’ve barely eaten in days.

I’ve barely slept in days.

I’ve seen next to no one in days.

I haven’t gone to work in days.

My apartment remains in a state of devastation.

I face failing one of my uni courses.

The cupboards are full of food that needs to go.

12,029 written words after one of the most difficult weekends of my life, I am still left not knowing what I must believe; what I mustn’t; what I want to and what I don’t want to.

I may think I know what I want, but I don’t know how to achieve it.

My writing gives me a direction, but no direction seems right.

While I heal, I won’t be available.