There’s been something shifting inside of me, becoming increasingly strange and uncomfortable. I’ve been out-of-sorts all week, though if I look back I can see the beginnings of this period having started before then, slowly building.
I’ve had phases of my life like this quite regularly. I call it a down-cycle, or sometimes just, “my brain is getting bad again.” But I don’t know if that’s actually it, this time. I don’t feel terrible, necessarily, or depressed. Just strange, listless… unmoored. There’s a weird fog I’ve had to wade through to get through my days, always with the sense that there’s things I’m missing, things I’m forgetting to do that are supremely important.
I can’t bring myself to dredge up the appropriate panic for it. I can’t tell if that’s because I’m learning self-forgiveness, or if I’m simply too numb to care right now.
It’s a strange place to be, emotionally. My hope is that it leads more to growth, that it’s just the beginnings of a new beginning, my psyche preparing for the day I’m no longer tied to one of the places I’ve been part of for so long, a place that’s brought immeasurable experiences, made me lifelong friends I love with all my heart, but also given me so much pain.
That day is approaching sooner than I usually think, and there’s a jarring feeling everytime I remember that.
It brings a rumble, beneath the surface.
A shaking off of dust, and rust.
Bits of me I’ve lost, trying to return.