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.


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