July 17, 2008

The way I feel:

Like my desire [And constant daydreaming] of being home and my longing for solitude, my longing to completely shut out people altogether has swallowed me.

And Catastrophe is on the inside looking through eyeholes as she is sinking into an emotionless trance that has an aftertaste of depresssion.

But she isn't suicidal. She wouldn't do that. Not to the people she loves.

She feels no motivation to do anything.

At times when she is in a large group of people, she feels as if she was an injured animal trapped in a corner. But no one is trying to hurt her. Not on purpose.

And as she stands there, her pride starts to suffocate her while her insecurities play frivolous elevator music.

Catastrophe almost feels as if she could just turn away from the eyeholes she is peering through and sit in the shadows of her mind. No one would bother her there.

Catastrophe has this vacant sensation. Her body makes the motions but her soul, she herself, is somewhere else.

Gone.

She doesn't feel much. Except when her daydreams take her home and she plays scenarios in her mind--until someone yanks her out of her thoughts and asks if she is okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine."