Buried

Initially, when I sat down and poured out some words a few hours ago, the first line was, "Jesus, what a fucking mess."

It's good that I no longer feel that needs to be the first line of today's post.  It was certainly how I felt when I wrote it, and I was hoping it would also offer sufficient explanation as to why I haven't posted in awhile (not that anyone's counting, but whatever).  

But I worked on some of the fucking mess and it  no longer feels necessary to begin with it.

Don't get me wrong, though.  The mess is still there.  And here.  And over here, some.  And in here.

But, anyway.  As I was saying...

Apparently, it’s normal to have it within yourself to be fulfilled and happy.  

I don’t have that.  I need (or have myself convinced that I need) it from the outside.  From someone else.  From something else. 

But I guess it’s supposed to come from me.

How do you get that?

How do you find that contentment, that feeling that even though things might sometimes be bad or sad or whatever else, that when it comes down to it, you’re all right?  How do you find that?

I don’t mean I want to be happy and feel perfect all the time.  I’m just tired of feeling empty.

Nothing fills it.

I’ve tried.  Trust me, I’ve tried.

(This quote comes to mind: "All you want is to be filled up and whether it's by a man or by tons of disgusting slop makes no difference.  None of it can make up for your ridiculous, egotistical self-loathing."  It's from a movie I'm somewhat embarrassed to have watched, but parts of it hit home, like this line.  Is my self-loathing really egotistical?  That's something to ponder.  I also liked the part about the soul trees.)

But anyway, again.

I’m sick of the mess.  I’m sick of believing and acting as if I don’t have it within me to fix it.

I’m so fucking stuck.

I read once that action begets motivation, not the other way around.  I can truly dig it.  I believe it.  

But when you don’t act.  When you feel you can’t… then what?

This is where I am.  I’m stuck.

I buried myself.

..........................................more digressions...............................................

There were some hours, this evening, during which I brushed the dirt  off of my face.  Like the time I woke up in snow and believed I would drown and was so relieved when my arms could move and my face found the air.  Maybe... maybe that's where I am at this moment.

"Knocked flat out on the ground, she could see the sky clearly..." 

Could I...?