Elbow Room

I'm tired.

I've tried to write here several times over the past few weeks and nothing is really happening for me each time I belly up to my desk. Part of it has to do with another creative endeavor I am attempting, but the rest of it has no real cause, destination, or plot. I'm just tired.

I'm feeling that oppressive, crushing, dark feeling again. My heart feels heavy in my chest. My limbs seem to be moving solely of their own volition. Brain set to autopilot. I'm reacting. Responding. Smiling when it's appropriate. Forcing myself to accept outing invitations from friends. Convincing myself to stay awake just one more hour. Then laying in bed for two.

I looked at the calendar today and realized it's been nearly six months. And while I want so badly to be happy for myself, I'm having trouble mustering anything beyond cautious nervousness. What next? Who am I without being the Eating Disorder Girl? What if I still can't get it right?

Part of me wonders if all of this therapy and self-exploration has turned me into someone very selfish. That maybe in the process of trying to find myself, I really just lost the girl I was meant to be all along.

I talked to absolutely no one
Couldn't keep to myself enough
And the things bottled inside had finally begun
To create so much pressure that I'd soon blow up

And I heard the reverberating footsteps
Syncing up to the beating of my heart
And I was positive that unless
I got myself together I would watch me fall apart