To switch my thoughts, unending as they always are, to positive grooves and other topics.
Things I can change, things I can help, differences I can make.
The futility of what my mental disorder wants me to do must be acknowledged.
It’s a wasteful beast. Leading into endless google searches and paralyzing rituals.
Things I must do. Things I cannot continue my day without doing. Things that are integral to function. In that rigidity, it eases, but it only salves it for a moment.
And then all over again it begins. I’m already an hour late, what’s one more if my alignment is not quite right yet.
Why can’t I open those boxes?
They’ve been there since Michael. I moved them from one place to the next.
I hoped I could forget the soul I hurt.
If I move on like it didn’t happen then the hurt won’t come right?
I’ll just keep running and keep moving boxes.
But. I must unpack. I will try again tonight.