“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.