(no subject)
Apr. 15th, 2018 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
verittyit's curious how exhausted i feel. it's not physical – not particularly, although I am tired of sensing my body's presence, the dryness of my skin and the uncleanliness of my feet and hands (even though they shouldn't be dirty), et cetera – but emotional, and I was so absolutely hyped and hyperactive and talkative, and then after my friend left, I just realised how drained I am.
I think I'm even tired of music, although silence in itself is too much for me, as always. I guess I'm just tired of feeling, or maybe, of forcing myself to feel. I want to just experience things (new things, or somewhat new, like the manga I'm reading or a new fic) without having to think or to feel (or, I guess, think about what I feel). Without having to consider what other people think about it. With many things, I cannot have that.
And interestingly enough, I feel like I still could talk to people, I could suggest we do something together – I still have spoons for that. Some part of me even thinks that I should, that it's my duty, my chore, my constant state. And solitude feels like such a... luxury. But it doesn't have to be. It's mine to have.
Funny how it's still hard to realise, even after all those years.
More important, even, is the feeling of... stilness. I'm so used to being in motion, always – or wanting to be, at least fidgeting, – but I don't have to do it. I can just stay still. It's okay to. Okay to want. Okay to have.
I think I'm even tired of music, although silence in itself is too much for me, as always. I guess I'm just tired of feeling, or maybe, of forcing myself to feel. I want to just experience things (new things, or somewhat new, like the manga I'm reading or a new fic) without having to think or to feel (or, I guess, think about what I feel). Without having to consider what other people think about it. With many things, I cannot have that.
And interestingly enough, I feel like I still could talk to people, I could suggest we do something together – I still have spoons for that. Some part of me even thinks that I should, that it's my duty, my chore, my constant state. And solitude feels like such a... luxury. But it doesn't have to be. It's mine to have.
Funny how it's still hard to realise, even after all those years.
More important, even, is the feeling of... stilness. I'm so used to being in motion, always – or wanting to be, at least fidgeting, – but I don't have to do it. I can just stay still. It's okay to. Okay to want. Okay to have.
