I am willing to bet that no one really reads my blog. My recipes, alcohol making, and other handicrafts documentary are far from interesting and useful. Perhaps, it could be save to assume that I can go on and about my deeply troubled mind without intruders and offenders.
The year has been horrific. In July alone, the up and downs of life events torn me. I joke to myself that the reason to start running again, putting the miles in (11 this week, more than the past three months combined), is to anesthetize the pain. That if the muscle soreness and breathless moments outweigh the sorrows and hurting from daily life, I will stop paying attention to them.
It is not yet working, but it just might.
It is loneliness that is bothering me. I have felt solitude but never ever lonely. Yet somehow, somehow, I started to feel lonely. I yarn for the time when I made peace with myself. To find meaning and joy in life, with whatever I have around me. Yet, today I have more than the past years, and ever more empty.
It is as if I plan events to fill up my days but I am not there when I am there. My mind is elsewhere but where? It is a sense of isolation but ever more hoping to connect to people around me. Be trying hard perhaps too hard, to fill the missing piece of my soul. As cheesy as this sounds, this is how I feel.
Perhaps the running is to make me stronger. That I'm sick of the weak and the dependence. That enduring the pain will make me stronger. The pains are my shields to the life around me.
If it hurts enough, maybe I will not feel the woes.
No comments:
Post a Comment