Grey Sweatpants

 Some days I just feel like a pair of grey sweatpants. Not black. Not white. Just grey. Maybe it's the lesser of two evils that I feel this way. 

Deflated Happy Birthday balloons stare out at me from shop windows. I feel like them. I've reached a point in my life where I realised that I am probably just going to fade into the background. I feel like I'm sleepwalking through all of my days. The numbness of my mind is driving me back to my bed. Back to the safe comfort of the duvet and extra firm pillows. Heaven. I wrap the duvet around myself and turn the fan on so I don't become impossibly hot. 

When I wake up I realise where I am. I realise how long it's been. I peek through the curtains behind the bed and look out into a light grey sky. Please let it stay this way all day. I want to curl up under it and feel okay for the day. Then I realise I have work today. It's only 4 hours, but it's 4 hours away from the safety of my bedroom. My anxiety has been increasing over the past few months. It's damn near impossible some days to get up, but I force myself, dealing with the physical and mental discomfort. I feel as if I'm failing in some ways as my desire to curl up and not leave the room continues its steady growth. 

...

I've fallen into familiar patterns. My room is destroyed. My house is untidy. Everything externally mirrors everything internally. I don't know how I will make it through the work week, I just have nothing left in me anymore. All I want to do is sleep. I feel the air getting cooler, more moisture in it. I'm ready for foggy mornings while the leaves change colour. I'm ready for hot chocolate, pumpkin bread and apple cider. It's the only time of the year that really matters. And it's too short. Far too short for my liking. I don't think that I would be bored in a perpetual autumn world. I think I'd actually feel somewhat comfortable. 
Things are piled up everywhere. Clothing, candles, shoes. Things I need, things I don't need. It's a vicious cycle at times. I get things to fill the void then end up resenting the items or the mess they create for me. I get uneasy and want to scream.

I've got a new notebook to help with the depressive thoughts; thoughts that I don't want to share on this blog. I feel like I just need to try and get something out of me. It's not really helping, but I promised people I would try. There are some aspects of my life that I don't want to make public because I know of certain people who read these blogs and it would be unfair and possibly even uncomfortable for them to read some of these thoughts...but who am I to care about what they feel when my own displeasure and discomfort is flaunted in my face? 
Over the past 15 years, I've filled volumes with my thoughts, ideas, hopes and dreams. It was a project to look back on. And of course, Pookie had to butt into everything, read all of them and throw them away. And then she wonders why I'm angry? She doesn't see it as that big a deal, but I do. I needed those memories. I needed to know what I lived through because I sometimes have black spaces in my memory. Thanks for her almost everything is gone and it's painful. Never asks, just takes. Takes and takes. And then she wonders why I'm not her biggest fan.