Direction

It's been another one of those nights, where no matter what I do or say, I find fault.  I sit, buzzing around the inside of my head reminding myself and unable to forgive myself for faults and slights that might only even exist in my own head to begin with.

Last night was a light of blissful creativity.  Even having a tough conversation with one of my friends wasn't able to bring me down.  I drew and painted, and no matter how late it got, I didn't want to sleep, because everything still felt so good and natural.  It flowed.

Most of today was basically the same, apart from me sleeping through much of it.

But tonight.  More than just the high being gone, I feel low.  Grasping at straws, going through motions.  Hollow.  Transient.  Meaningless.

It's the kind of night when you ask yourself "What am I doing with my life?"

I've got things to do.  Projects piled up.  I still get inspired to make.  To sew to paint.  That's good right?  That's the spring of my joy, the love of my life.

Only I started asking again "What's the point?"  I know what I'm doing with my time but I don't see anything coming of it.  I can't see it adding value to other people's lives.

I don't often sing just to hear my own voice.

This worries me.  I've been diagnosed with depression, and these are some of the same thoughts that landed me in therapy, on medication, to begin with.

What am I doing with my life?  What am I contributing?

Most of the people who know me know I am generally a happy person.  I smile.  I laugh.  I love life.  Is it strange to wonder if maybe I'm too happy?  That maybe, instead of bringing joy, my smiles are annoying at best- hollow masks at worst, to keep people from seeing when I hurt inside.

I have a problem with hiding when I am hurt.  I can feel it when other people are hurting, and I don't want it to work in reverse, to hurt other people with my pain.  I run away.  I avoid the very friends who might make me happy again.  I see myself as a nuisance.  A bother.  A waste of their time.

Some nights... I just can't seem to stop it.  The cycle, the flow of negativity.

I don't know where I'm going.  I'm lost and drowning and clinging at anything and everything that seems to lift me up out of the darkness and the murk.  Grasping at the highs, however temporary, that let me actually feel like a person, and not a broken doll.

All my delights.  My fancies.  My paintings and stories.  Am I actually creating anything?  Or am I just running.  Hiding.  From the fact that my life is empty without them.

I don't know anymore.  I can only hope tomorrow brings a breath of clarity, and the darkness is but a passing thing...