This is not going well. I am starting to feel that paralyzing doubt again. I’m not posting much lately, that’s true, but it’s not that I’m not thinking about it. I’m staring at the “new post” window, sometimes even writing something, then deciding it’s crappy or insignificant or boring or whiny and then deleting. The same with comments. I’m reading your posts, really, I am, and I’m typing out comments but then I can’t bring myself to submit them. I feel like I have nothing to add to the conversation.
My whole life right now is centered around functioning. I am going to work, I am going to rehearsal, I am teaching my lessons, I did another music festival last week (I will post about it if I can bring myself to do it), but whenever I’m not absolutely obligated to be focusing on something I am numbing out with television. It feels like I can’t be alone with my thoughts for even one second and need to be distracted all the time. The only time I am really thinking about what’s going on with me is in my therapy sessions, and I’m a total fucking mess. I just sit there and cry. I can’t put together a coherent narrative for the new therapist because I can’t focus on myself without panicking.
I know that I’m doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t do, which is losing more time, but when I start to think about what I actually want out of life I start panicking. And if I want to get through what I have to get through in the immediate sense (work, rehearsal, teaching), I can’t afford to be panicked. So I push it all down and watch more episodes of Angel (curse you, Netflix) and wait till the next “have-to,” when I pull it all together again and function for a few more hours. I haven’t updated my 2011 page in over a week because I got tired of writing “just work again” for every single day.
I can’t even think about infertility.
I feel like I just need a break. That’s what I kept saying in my last therapy session. I need time. A break from my life. A break from myself. A break from my goddamn unending internal monologue of failure.
Life has not always been this way. But it’s hard to see how it could ever be different.
And I need to stop writing now because I’ve got that tightness in my chest and stomach and it’s getting hard to breathe again. I am so weak.