It's Sunday at five (pm), and I swear, I've never been more melancholy in my life than at this moment.
My mind is out of control with a buzzing sound and thoughts that are smashing into each other like a bunch of 13 year old girls front row at a Katy Perry concert. The age old Sunday questions are coming up.
"What am I doing with my life?"
"I feel like I am just going through this thing (life) with no ambition, cares or passion. What's my passion?"
"I want to stop drinking so much."
"I feel so alone. Is that normal?"
"Next time I go out on a Saturday night, I SWEAR I will not eat a whole loaf of bread when I get home!"
"Should I have a cheese toastie for dinner tonight?"
Lately though, these classic Sunday night questions and feelings have come creeping, like Rihanna's crazy stalker, into my mind at random times. That's right, even on a Tuesday. The cloying sensation of melancholy mozies over and attaches itself to my side, so that it's my constant companion. The desire to cry or scream or sleep is wrapped under two to three levels of normality. But they push closer to the surface every day.
Sometimes I feel like there isn't enough air to breathe. Sometimes I feel like the world needs to get it's shit together. Sometimes I feel like everyone has got their shit together but me. Mostly I feel an overwhelming sense of restlessness. Like I'm cast adrift, and am just waiting helplessly to see land again. I don't know where to begin to find it, because I have no idea where I am.
I don't feel depressed. It's more that I feel desperate for something, and I'm not even sure what that 'something' is.
I love my life, but I'm shit scared of it.
