Moan, that’s all she does.

Today I have nothing in me. I feel empty and exhausted, like I’ve been wrung out of every last little bit of coherent thought. I’m listening to the same songs over and over again and thinking my way through all the fucking shitty chaos of the last three months and knowing that it has come to an end in some senses but in others there will never be an end and I don’t know if I want things back to the way that they were because it was so utterly dead and so tiring and painfully old and now I feel new and younger and bigger and yet somehow much smaller but its frightening and no longer very safe like it was and how will that work out when the panic sets in and I can’t get back to my cocoon? And now I’m in a place of unceasing want. I want want want and can’t have and won’t get and how will I live like this? Will the newness and the real, beautiful, not-dead feeling be enough? Is it a good trade? I’m terrified that it isn’t. But I’m very ready to find out.


About pippa

40-something, yogi, gardener, reader and writer. Not great at any of those things but more than happy to be average. I'm anxious, depressed, chaotic, boring, delighted, excited and often foolish. It's all good. And cake.
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