Preamble Parting

Words fail me. Words aren’t enough.

I feel joy but it feels fake.

Like shouldn’t I be fighting a bull right about now instead of resting in a bed of roses and going to the spa?

My days are full of to-dos and activities and classes, checked off boxes and completed assignments, like each conversation is a carefully planned out orchestrated event… only to wake up and run around again. Like an alcoholic returning to their substance of abuse, I am addicted to busyness. Attention. Obsessed with God. Health. Like an ant trying to conquer and comprehend humans, it is impossible to get on top of these things.

I feel alone wondering the earth. My brain never stops and neither do my feet. I long for human connection like a dog pants for water.

I have a partner yet we are two ships passing in the night. And I secretly long for it to be over before the start of Lent- to make a new beginning….again.

I feel good now. But there is a little voice in the back of my head saying I should go back, to the old me, and find my way to the ground and kneel my way, muscle my way through it, fight in the boxing arena till victory is granted unto me. It’s the result of biochemical changes in my brain, and my muscles of tolerance getting stronger. I am not surprised by anything anymore.

These days I feel I am more complex than ever, the contents of my brain are on a giant ferris wheel, or on a child beach bucket toy, receiving and letting go of different contents, then spinning around for a while.

I am fine, I am good. All shall be well.