Butterflies and Hurricanes

I feel terribly, horribly lost.

Sitting here listening to dreamy music is only making me question my choices. I’ve been trying to stay away from the monster with so much caution that I didn’t even realize that I had ended up inside its mouth. And now, as its sharp teeth pierce me and prick me and jostle me around, there is only one thing on my mind, like a constant, nagging, faraway echo.

How the hell do I get out of this mess?

This will not do. Lying under the covers, fighting back tears in stifling social situations, discarding countless word documents, dragging my body everywhere, hoping to revive some spark, somewhere, somehow. This will not do. It’s a constant struggle: the restlessness, the conflicting emotions and the smothered soul.

“Something needs to be done.” The words ring out, loud and clear, at every waking moment of every day, and night. I need to make something happen. The next time I crawl back here, I want to see a change, I want to be on to something. I refuse to make myself feel like this. So powerless, helpless, and rudderless.

Something needs to be done.