Jotting down my feelings about myself and the world around me has especially been hard this week. I’ve found myself confronting a phase where I doubt almost everything I think, feel and make.
I’ve had to drag myself along.
I’ve had to find ways to share my pain with people I feel safe around. I’ve had to still be able to connect with loved ones, instead of shutting myself off, like I used to do a few years ago, before I had a better handle on my emotions.
So, here I am, on the Saturday morning of the shitty week I’ve been battling, writing down my feelings. After a few days of not being able to bring myself to write, this note feels a bit weird. Like a slog. Perhaps I might be doubting these very words you’re reading.
I don’t know much. Just that I’m in a dark place.
All I know is that keeping a diary has always been therapeutic and allows me to study myself and keep a clear perspective on foggy days.