Sometimes, when I'm alone, and I'm alone a lot these days, I cry. I fill with a pathetic grief over things I have lost. I feel that my memory is slipping, or maybe I'm detracted, or depressed. Either way, I cry. I cry because I sit and stare at this screen and the words don't come. They don't formulate themselves the way they use to. I don't create. I don't feel like creating. I'm like a bucket that has been poured out, emptied.
I try to rationalize that it was 5 years in a mind and soul crushing PhD program followed by a year of dissolution and disenchantment.
Perhaps it's the realization of the depth of my weakness, how little it took to break me. How little meaning there is to life, to love, to anything.
It all seems so insipid and shallow.
Where once I found beauty, I now find void.
Me, a girl who sits in her dream house, on a street made for movies, surrounded by safety, and the love she begged God for 20 years to send.
I feel pathetic. And utterly terrified.