the pieces

sometimes i am not sure what is the truth. what is my truth, as i would say if i wanted to say something like that, which i don't right now. when i am not sure what the truth is i feel like i'm regressing. but i don't even know what i mean by saying that.

my head has caught up with me it always does. i run and run and i look at school and i look at the dishes and i look at the cats and i look at the bills and i look at my friends' problems and i look at the job and the car and the men and the clothes and the money and everyone else and i don't i won't take a look at the truth because look at how busy i am.

and i don't even know what it's about because my head it churns it around and round and up and down and shreds what could potentially be the truth into little bits and pieces of nonsense that will not piece together because i don't even know where to start.

i feel that through this thing that i'm doing - this thing that i'm working towards- this fucking goal that offers the promise of something called a career- i feel like i am losing myself because i just don't have the time to catch up. and it always comes back to this, this place. and it terrifies me and what terrifies me is not that i find it terrifying it's that i find it so comfortable. and i know that this happens with me and i know it doesn't last forever and i know and i know but what i feel is not what i know and the feelings are what can be dangerous. or is it the lack of feeling- the apathy that i turn to because i am too fucking afraid to truly allow myself the fullness of feeling.

and i told myself i wouldn't go up in my head and here i am. it doesn't take much to get me there and i'm off to the races and the rest comes crumbling down and all of a sudden nothing is right and everything is too much and so much is just never enough.