Wednesday (Nonchronological. I just need to write.)

I found my angel bracelet that had been missing. It was missing in the jewellery box on my bedside table. Someone at church lent me a book. I told Father A_n about my obsessive/compulsiveness. Letter from a priest: “Given those thoughts, I agree it's a good idea to use prayer in the moment and not as a goal that will become a prison.” I talked to my best friend about my obsessive/compulsiveness. I talked to my best friend about visiting the doctor. I am going to let the doctor refer me to a therapist. I saw a small rainbow on the second day that I went to the doctor. It was sunny out. It didn’t mean anything. Sleep paralysis & two dreams about being raped. A dream that I went about my regular life, on the bus to the city, student teaching, talking to Angel T_y, and I was so horribly suicidal. It could have been my last day. It was so authentic to my real life, it was so real, so real. The doctor acted like I was going to kill myself. A dream that I wrote my Gull a card. First, a thank you for being my friend. Second, asking how she could possibly want to be friends with someone like me. Third, writing a suicide note. When I got my breasts examined, lifting my shirt did not bother me, but putting my hands above my head did. I am scared of everyone & everything. I saw an animal’s small, desiccated spine on a walk. I thought about how once it gave the animal all feeling & sensation & life & now it was nothing. Then I thought about how simple the world is. Spending the past week asking permission, asking if it is all okay. I have never been this mentally unwell before. I don’t feel like I have anything to look forward to, or to live for. I am unable to cry. I am ashamed of myself. I keep saying sorry to everyone. I don’t think other people actually care about me. I feel like I have to shower two or three times a day & wash my hands repeatedly after [REDACTED]. For Thanksgiving, my mom said she was thankful for what a loving & forgiving mother that she is. Whenever I drive the car, I think about driving it into this ditch near my house. On the way to the doctor, I began to panic. It was supposed to be a four minute drive. It was across the street from my house. I never drive over to that side of the road. Not driving across the street would mean that I was pathetic; driving across the street would mean that I had believed the door out of the room was locked when all I had to do was turn the handle (pathetic). I don’t feel like my body is mine. I feel dirty all the time. The drive ended up being fifteen or so minutes. A big circle. Looping. “It’s okay to want reassurance. You won’t always want it this much.” “Yes, it will all be ok.” “This is partly why I find it difficult to agree with the statement that your writing is useless.” Sometimes I think to myself, should I choose not to stay around, then I will miss.. Or more often, I think of it as, should you choose to stay then… I began to tear up at the thought & I couldn’t tell if it was because there was too much or absolutely nothing. I am a complete failure. I can’t take this much longer.

I am so sad and unhappy that I can't stand it.
I feel I have nothing to look forward to.
I feel I have failed more than the average person.
I am dissatisfied or bored with everything.
I feel guilty all of the time.
I expect to be punished.
I am disgusted with myself.
I blame myself for everything bad that happens.
I have thoughts of killing myself, but I would not carry them out.
I used to be able to cry, but now I can't cry even though I want to.
I have lost most of my interest in other people.
I can't make decisions at all anymore.
I have to push myself very hard to do anything.
I don't sleep as well as I used to.
I am too tired to do anything.
I have no appetite at all anymore.
I have lost more than ten pounds.
I have lost interest in sex completely.

It’s sort of like when you’re driving and you’re about to get into an accident, so you do what you’re supposed to, you swerve or you brake, but you’re completely aware of the fact that whatever you do, however good or un-good it is, it may or may not save your life. You’re just at something’s mercy. I keep trying to get out of this, but I don’t really know what to do anymore. I’m not going to do anything drastic, just so you know, I’m not going to kill myself.

I don’t really know what to do with myself now. I am so full of doubt. I don’t know where to go or what to do. I try to love God in that space of doubt, of maybe-maybe-not, perfect timing, left & right turns, love-you-goodnights. I don’t know if I’d be better off thinking that those stories from the Gospel really happened. I’ve reached a point where it doesn’t really matter if it’s [real] or not. I don’t know if that’s faithful or unfaithful. Father A_n says “faithless is definitely not the word,” but he didn’t give me another one to use. It doesn’t really bother me all that much. I think what bothers me is that I no longer care about a sign from God, I no longer care about prayers of supplication; I repeat the Jesus Prayer a lot, but I don’t know what anything means anymore, not that I ever did.

I keep thinking of this break from school to the utmost extreme, that I have to use this week to save my life, whatever that even means. It’s this repetitive thought I have, that maybe this is the thing that will save my life. Maybe it’s from a poem I once read. Sometimes I internalize things so well that I can’t remember where they’re from anymore.

I don’t like this anymore. Count the times that I’ve written ‘anymore,’ six on this page. So childish. Not in a good way. I treat everything with suspicion.

Brown-yellow flowers
Color of a healing bruise
(finally)
and my seagull’s hair

They turn away from
the window-light
Dead; they were made to endure the winter,

I was not.

1. Angels, Animal Crossing
2. Birds, my Build-A-Bear frog, the breeze
3. Carrothope, corduroy, clovers, crying, clouds
4. Dandelions
5. My friend E, my ability to endure
6. Feeling
7. Tall grass
8. Hopefulness that endures regardless
9. Ivy
10. My trip to Japan
11. Keepsakes
12. Lisa, Little Miss Sunshine (2006), Letters to a Young Poet, light
13. Meaning
14. Noticing
15. Crying at the ocean (or, “crying at the empty sea of faith”), my trips to Oregon
16. Pigeons, printer
17. Quiet
18. Rainbows, eventual respite
19. Sufjan Stevens, sunlight, scallionhope, solitude, sensation, suffering, my navy blue McDonald's sweatshirt
20. Telephone wires, transience, taste
21. Unloneliness
22. Vase of flowers, visible light
23. Wind, writing, weeping
24. Saint Xenia
25. Yoshitomo Nara
26. Zephyrs

“One of the most attractive things about self-isolation is that it's so damn efficient; you get all your stuff done, and no one bothers you. I get the attraction, but, even if you have to push yourself to interact with folks little by little, the pay-off is unbelievable: you find people that genuinely do care for you, and you realize that it really is possible to have healthy and loving relationships with others.”

Not chronological ’cause I don’t care.

When I’m in this mood, all of my pictures are ugly. Maybe one day when I look back, they will be good. Maybe one day I will be thirty.

I’m writing you from the bus. The light is warm & gentle & it is quiet. My back hurts & I’m sitting next to a sleeping girl. I wish I weren’t here.

Monday

Laying in bed, a pain in my back that is also comfortable. At 8:45 I thought of closing my eyes because I was so tired. I thought it was too early for bed, but that would have been 8½ hours. Would have been, the time has passed.

I was too tired to walk. I was too tired to cook. I drove to get sushi nearby, with scallions. I needed scallionhope in my diet. I don’t know if it worked. I got tearful entering the restaurant & almost began to cry on the drive home. I wish something would happen to me.

This morning I saw a deer as I was driving & got scared.

Sunday

The moon tonight had a halo around it, and a tiny “star” that was actually Saturn.

The only reason why I continue at all
Faith in reason, I wasted my life playing dumb
Signs & wonders, sea lion caves in the dark
Blind faith, God's grace, nothing else left to impart

In two days I saw two deer, but I’ve been making myself inconsolable & they meant less to me than they normally would. Both times they ran in front of the car, unscathed. Unscathed. I could be a deer across the road unscathed, but somehow comparing the deer to me only diminishes it, them. My uncle said some time ago after I was delighted to see a deer at the park that it wasn’t a good thing, that it just meant we were encroaching more upon the deer’s habitat. I don’t think that made the deer less meaningful to me, but I do think whenever I see them now that this is a chance encounter by force. Even if I wish I were gentle. Even as my car speeds toward them.

I went to church & sank into such a great sadness that I wished I hadn’t been born. Between my (our) prayers that was a distinct thought: “I wish I had never been born.” Sometimes these thoughts are simple & automatic, but I really meant it.

This morning my dad picked me up from my exile at my mom’s & complained that I smelled like cat piss. He rolled the windows down & turned his nose away from me. “That’s why I don’t like visiting mom,” I said. He rolled his eyes. I could have cried from the shame of it.

He didn’t let me shower before church so I washed my hair in the bathroom sink with body wash.

A lot of people at church today came to introduce themselves to me & asked me to stay after the service. I told them no. I wanted to be despondent & unreachable. I was not a conversationalist. I could’ve fallen through the floor as I said my name. I could’ve fallen off a chair with a rope around my neck.

After telling someone that I was about to leave, I continued to sit in my chair till Father A_n came to fulfill our standing Sunday appointment. He takes it very seriously; he told me last week when he wouldn’t be there to see me, a warning. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m suicidal. When I first wrote to him about Philippians I was only able to read it through that familiar wash of suicide that covers everything. The only thing I could ask was whether or not Paul wanted to kill himself.

In my despondency I didn’t even particularly want to speak to Father A_n. Somehow though in my lack of conversation I managed to say 1) that I write here, though I did not tell him the name, simply that it was anonymous and 2) that I have a best friend who I met by writing back & forth, digital pen pals. This is information that I’ve withheld from everyone else in my life.

He told me it’s good that I’m reading the Psalms slowly & that I should read the Gospel of Luke first.

I went grocery shopping & bought a chamomile bouquet. Rosemary crackers. Vegetables. A bottle of vitamins. Is any of this going to save my life? Maybe.

I want to take care of myself. Another thought that I had in church was that I can’t tell what I want anymore. All I do is stumble forward and see if it hurts me.

Friday

I am too angry to write.

On the way home in the dark, in the backseat, I opened my eyes only for a moment to see a deer run in front of the car. It was unscathed.

Wednesday

I’m going to start adding the days of the week to my diary entries, because I am becoming more & more beholden to them. “I am forgotten by the heart like a dead man. I am become like a broken vessel.” Then maybe my diary will learn the meaning of Vashti-Wednesday/Vashti-Friday/Vashti-Weekend; the little spaces & times that I can surface for air again.

Monday night I had a dream that someone asked to see the rope that I was going to hang myself with. I was ashamed.

After my Monday rainwalk, my shoes were still damp when I wore them to Vespers on Tuesday. That fact was pleasing to me, that I brought the rain with me. It felt like stringing two beads onto the same necklace, or two limbs to the same body. It was only me in my damp sneakers, Father A_n, and one other parishioner. It was melancholy. It was sad & endearing to hear one lone priest sing instead of a choir. I wondered what he did if no one showed up, if he would still perform it alone. I hope so.

I took Tuesday off because we had no students, but still stayed up until 3 AM doing schoolwork & lesson plans last night, up at 5:15 AM. (Really I awoke at 5:13 AM, before my alarm.) I feel a surprising lack of tiredness from it. I think some of my exhaustion has come from the weight or a constant awareness of my work, so in a way I feel a lot less tired than I did before. Less dread.

I have never been so happy to sleep on the bus as I was this morning. An uncharacteristically cold morning, the bus arrived when I did, and with its heater on. I’ve had something of a perpetual cold since a vague time in October, and it has been hard to breathe through my nose while I sleep. My lips are chapped & my throat hurts. I slept so comfortably on the bus because the seat was at an incline & I could breathe. I hate the time change, but there’s something comforting about waking up again in the morninglight instead of the morningdark, even if it’s in a space of borrowed time.

Rainwalk; closed the umbrella. After dark, so there were no rainbows to search for, only the rain to feel. My hair is still wet & I am cold.

I can’t do this anymore. I go to church. I can’t do this anymore. I look at the leaves. I can’t do this anymore. I hang my laundry. I can’t do this anymore. I feel the breeze. I can’t do this anymore. I put my headphones on. I can’t do this anymore. I take the headphones off. I can’t do this anymore. I try to cry but nothing happens. I can’t do this anymore. I talk to my friend on the phone. I can’t do this anymore. I take the bus in the morning. I can’t do this anymore; I keep doing it.

—

On Tuesday I almost got hit by a bus. I stepped (almost) in front of it: inattention. It’s surprising my foot didn’t get run over. I jumped back instinctively, but it was mechanical. I was devoid of fear. I probably should have felt more affected by the fact that I was a step from my own demise, but I have been too tired & unfeeling. Part of me wished I were hit. I imagined my soft body breaking & bending under its wheels & it evoked nothing. This September, after the near-miss, I felt a certain amount of comfort in the fact that I cried out of fear (for my life). That comfort can no longer be found. The bus meant nothing to me, (beyond a detached confirmation).

Halloween was nothing. I said I would splatter myself in play blood, but I was too tired.

On Friday I spent time with E for her birthday, which was at the end of September. It was the only time she had for me. I got into a car accident afterwards. A kid ran into me at a stop sign. The noise was loud. Considering my fears & the fact that this was the first time that I had ventured out of my self-imposed loop in a month, I thought it would mean more to me. It did not. The kid apologized with each breath, but it didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t anything. I went home and took a nap.

I considered taking a knife to my arm or my thigh, just to feel some semblance of anything, but decided not to. Abstinence & self control.

I said I would go to church for Saturday’s Divine Liturgy, but did not. Instead, I woke up & laid in bed for about three hours, unmoving & self-loathing. I went on Sunday, (today). I knew some of the words this time. “Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy.” Father A_w read the parable of the rich man & Lazarus. The closest instance of a belief in the afterlife & a new understanding of faith, but all I can think about now are dogs licking sores.

I had a dream about living in Alaska. I was still myself completely. There was snow & it was dark in the afternoon. 3:30 PM. I saw a school bus stop in the snowcovered street & watching the kids step off into the dark, I wanted to kill myself. I decided to call my friend the Gull first. Even in my dreams I can’t escape this feeling.

I have never felt this bad before.

I am going to sleep well tonight. I went to bed far too late last night & woke up from a nightmare only an hour and a half or so into my (short) sleep: Me standing; A (hairless) cat standing on my back, claws attached to me, but not painfully; A hairless, skinless dog, far past mange, red flesh, bull terrier shaped mass for a head, anatomically off-putting (as though put together with wires); The dog is horrifying & even in my dream I understand that this animal is not right; The cat is horrifying, it is touching me; The dog is about to bark; I stand completely still, cat on my back, in absolute dread; The dog barks and the cat claws me. I wake up in fear.

I slept on the bus in the morning. The dark morning was almost uncomfortably cold. As I approached the school I felt sick out of fear. I could feel my mouth fill with saliva. Headphones: “I'm a biker, yeah, I'm a beaver / Webfoot walker, trailblazing fever.” Thoughts: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” (It did not help this time.)

After my obligations & requirements of the day, I saw The Mass of the Fermenting Dregs in concert. I was outside & it was dark. I looked at the moon as I listened to their first songs. The moon was (almost) full. There were telephone wires. The music made me tear up. We moved to another spot, one where I could see the band. I could smell garbage intermittently. I remembered that everything was transient, ending. I could have cried from something like happiness.

Commute (two bus rides) to school: Reading the choir’s psalter. Commute (two bus rides) home: Staring into space & [REDACTED].

After I got home, I went to get sushi; tekkamaki (鉄火巻) & a cup of miso soup. Simple & good.

I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I just feel perpetually undeserving; a failure. For some reason, there are a lot of people who care for me & do their best to help me. Even if I don’t understand why, people are good to me, over & over again.

I am so fucking despondent. I feel nothing. It’s like I’m carrying something dead around inside of me, a stillborn in the place of my heart.

Father A_n gave me the choir's book of psalters to borrow.

I don’t feel good, but I’m okay. I think I’ve succumbed to stress-induced illness. Somehow that does not bother me; in fact, I find it rather acceptable, (and acceptance is all I am capable of right now). There’s something pleasing to me about being concurrently physically & mentally miserable; it feels like a reconciliation. Most of my suffering comes from a perceived, (because all suffering is perceived), disconnect (open circuit, open wound) between my emotions & my life(‘s circumstances), the world around me, which manifests itself in self-blame-hatred-guilt-disgust, shame. I do not feel ashamed right now. I feel miserable, but I do not feel ashamed.

I noticed the autumn leaves for the first time, in the wind I mean.

I went to church in the evening & the light was good. There was incense and the (clean) shadow of the chandelier. I did not understand what was happening. I stifled my coughs. I drove home & saw a roadkill racoon. I will go back again tomorrow.

I am so cold, and so far away from myself. I slept miserably. I had a dream that I mistook the words ‘mythology’ and ‘theology’. I woke up at 5 in the morningdark, twisted, drawn-and-quartered in blankets, confused, thinking that I was covered in sheets of paper. Then back to sleep, awake, back to sleep, awake. I took no comfort in it.

When I got out of bed, I noticed a film around my mouth, chapped lips, took a shower. My body is sore. I am doing laundry.

I bought the children little pumpkin-shaped cookies while I was grocery shopping.

I’m getting sick again; lack of sleep, lack of appetite & food. I need to take care of my body. I am falling into disrepair.

I dislike costumes & festivities, but for Halloween I will splatter myself with fake blood. I think Halloween costumes depicting horrific injuries are a good reminder of our mortality.

Another day, gone forever.

Class. Anger. Came home and slept for an hour. I thought about doing my laundry but didn’t. I had a dream that I was reading a book, I think the Bible, and someone was told that they would be eaten by worms. It did not sound like a metaphor for death, but a threat. Or death as a threat. Then in my dream I saw Littlest Pet Shops, the toys from my childhood, that were designed with stomachs that would lift to reveal maggots. Plastic maggots, because they are plastic toys.

While I laid in bed I thought about how absolutely numb and destitute of feeling I’ve been. Then I went on a walk. I felt the breeze; I saw a deer. I went home.

On the bus before sunrise, sleepless, the sound of a child’s wet cough, half-retching, caught in their throat, made me gag. I put on headphones to stop the sound. I did not move. I did not pray. I sat still. I looked forward.

I have been too sad to cry. There is nothing that I want, other than a stop.

I’m full of weird pains.

Tired; listlessly looking and moving. Tapping.

A series of nondescript days that blur together; blurriness and sickness are the only things that characterize this period of my life.

I taught the children about circuits and cautioned them against burning themselves on the wires like I did, to which in their innocent morbidity they all asked in a chorus to see the mark.

I went to church today. I didn’t really understand it, but Father A_n told me that it’s an older way of learning, and that after attending a few times it will make sense to me. I didn’t even know how to cross myself. We stood most of the time, but the discomfort was somewhat pleasing. I don’t have much to say in the way of insight or answers or even feelings; it was both vague and intense. Father A_n gave me a Bible from their church bookstore & told me to read Phillipians first, then to write him again. He also said that everyone feels this way, this way being a “longing in my stomach that feels like a hole that nothing’s been able to fill.” ... Maybe that’s what it means to be human then.

I felt tired today. Even when I’m “okay” I don’t feel good.

I have very little in the way of obligations and requirements and due dates this week; maybe I’ll feel some respite. Maybe I’ll breathe steadily. Maybe I won’t throw up in the morning.

My New Year’s Resolution: Live instead of just survive; or: Just Survive Live Somehow.

I live in a time
where we buy flowers in
plastic from
the grocery store
& I leave them dead
on the counter
plastic wrapped in plastic
& the kids on their worksheets
unanimously say they
will try to
cultivate hope for the future;
the kids who can’t tell
a beetle from a bird

All of the plastic in the ocean couldn’t fill the hole in my stomach.

I’m okay and a half. I had a dream that someone, my mother, offered me a crystal ball & I refused, even though I wanted it, because I thought it was unnecessary. She offered again & I refused again. Steadfast.

I also dreamt of a dead (roadkill) deer that I only remembered while driving today. Simple explanation: I saw a deer carcass getting eaten by vultures yesterday, but it wasn’t roadkill; it was laying in a field. I suppose the roadkill part came from my propensity to identify with roadkill. While I purposefully cultivate a bond with the breeze & the tall grasses, my bond with roadkill is so intrinsic that I’ve carried it since childhood. I’ve always liked looking at roadkill. Maybe it’s wrong to make a spectacle of the dead, but where else do we see the dead now? I am filling out an application to volunteer at a hospice center & one of the questions was whether or not I’ve had loved one had die; no. I am so very far from death despite its weight in my mind.

You many unassaulted cities:
Have you never yearned for the enemy?

I put my pink lilies in a vase after leaving them on the kitchen counter overnight. They were already blooming when I bought them. I would have preferred buds, but it’s okay. Sometimes pleasure can be immediate.

My sister is visiting from her city-college-apartment & she can’t drive, so I took her on errands. While I drove she demanded we listen to Alex G. I suppose I’ve converted her during our infrequent drives. I convinced her to donate blood with me. Next time I’ll donate my platelets, because I have the right blood type for it (A POS). Maybe I can talk to the Gull on the phone while I sit for those few hours. My sister was reluctant to donate blood until they gave us refreshments after we finished: Canned gatorade, a novelty to me.

I did laundry & cleaned my room & did very little else. I felt paralyzed by my own indolence.

It’s 11:11 PM. I’m going to go to church tomorrow. The priest replied to my email & told me the best thing I could do was to attend the Divine Liturgy, even in my nonbelief. He says: “But the main thing to understand is that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit believe in you and are intimately involved in your life--that's why you've had those feelings/those thoughts/those dreams that you just haven't been able to shake. That's the Most Holy Trinity moving around in your heart.”

Listened to Mass of the Fermenting Dregs with my car window down, cool breeze. Was close to tears again & again today. My chest felt open & everything around me poked at it. A breeze was enough to make it move. I’ve been so sad that contentment was overwhelming.

Did homework for hours & filled out a volunteer application for a nearby hospice center. May try the food bank on Thursdays too.

I saw a dead bird on concrete.

A cold morning. I didn’t want to get out of bed. Not because of the cold, which was novel & special, but because I felt heavy. I slept without dreams.

It will be cold again for a few days. Fleetingly. I’m actually looking forward to this winter. Maybe I’m holding my breath for it out of apprehension. Normally I dread it, but I think these feelings may be genuine. I don’t know what’s changed; maybe a newfound sense of self-assurance, self-knowledge of my capacity to endure suffering.

After class today I took a long nap, with dreams that I was/am too groggy to remember, and a hot shower. It was the first time showering has felt good in a long time. Something mundane and good. It didn’t feel so compulsory this time. It was easy to stand under the water. I stood under the water for a long time. It felt so nice that I wanted to write. Nothing really makes me want to write anymore.

I still have the taste of sleep & silence in my mouth, but it’s kind of nice. I decided not to brush my teeth yet.

I feel okay. I feel thoroughly okay. I’ve felt well since the tenth; I know this because I woke up before sunrise & received a letter from a friend sending strength.

I’ve been getting enough sleep & reading: The Way of a Pilgrim & Illustrated Lives Of The Saints. I really like The Way of a Pilgrim; reading about the pilgrim makes me happy. I realized this weekend that I intrinsically value things that make me happy with the exception of myself. I often find my attempts at happiness to be pointless or worse, meaningless. Why? (There is no answer other than self-loathing.)

I cut my hair today after some dreams told me to do so; dreams about hair cutting & dreams about church. I’ve found them to be important just by virtue of their recurring nature. It is very rare that I have recurring motifs in my dreams, but these two have become my mind’s landscape. After I cut my hair with my desk scissors, I changed into my navy blue pants & a navy blue shirt. My gull asked me what I wore after I cut my hair & told me it made sense. Navy blue is my color right now. I was going to dye my hair again, purple, but this made me realize that I’m not ready yet.

I spent time with my brother this weekend, started my period, did my laundry, & have decided to believe in God. I have asked myself to the point of nausea why but not how. It doesn’t matter how many times I ask myself why, the only answer I can say with any confidence or sincerity is that I simply want to. I don’t think I have faith in God, but simultaneously, I no longer care about proof. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to scrawl notes in margins anymore, at least not now. Now I am only concerned with how to believe in God. I want ritual in my life; I want meaning that is external to me. I don’t think that’s wrong. I’ve been trying to justify it, but isn’t the fact that I want it enough..?

Less interested in other people these past few days. I want quiet.

I got a PO box that I will check on Wednesdays. (I’m going to sign up for a postcard exchange.) I could check it more often, but I need rituality in my life. The future needs to be something more than an escape, an escape with no exit.

I had a dream again last night about being in a church. Someone pointed to a religious person & asked why I wasn’t like them. “I’m scared,” I said.

I want to be less vague in my writings, but nothing in my life is worth recording. Who am I to even make those judgments? If it doesn’t matter now, then it never mattered, and yet I still wrote.

In a cycle in which I stay up late trying to reclaim some time for myself, then wake up sleep deprived, then am too lethargic to do anything meaningful with my time, so then I stay up late again. I get so tired my eyes blur during the day. Sometimes I fall asleep sitting still. When I have time to myself, I spend it doing nothing. It seems that the way out is to get some sleep.

I’m genuinely so concerned with the lack of meaning in my life right now, the acute unfulfillment, the hole in my chest that I may have to try believing in God. It’s like I’m leaking.

Life is dissolving into noise without meaning again. I am both overwhelmed and numb, like the sound of being submerged into water. I am sinking into my own life and I hate it.

I dreamt of a haircut and a church without Christ, just bird imagery. I am unhappy. I am alive.