I’ve had the most difficult time going back and forth and fighting with myself whether or not to blog this week, mainly because I don’t know what the hell is going on with me. To simply put it; I don’t know how I feel.
However, for the past few days it’s felt a little more refined – that sinking weight of melancholy creeping back and burrowing itself in to my heart. It’s made it’s way home.
You can tell in the way my behaviour has changed – I’m going to bed earlier each night, wanting to be on my own, dissociating as my thoughts and my mind is finally quieting down. I’m tired. Time feels like its slowing. Nothing is fast paced anymore, the world is not rushing past me. I’m just stuck in it.
I’m not at the stage where is unbearable to cope yet (apart from a painful hour yesterday when I clipped my wing mirror because I was too spaced to even concentrate on the road), rather like i’m ‘cosily’ depressed, if there is such a thing. I’m warm, I’m mellow and I’m looking after myself. A total contradiction to the past two months I’ve indulged in. I miss my Wolf, sometimes I feel like I need her by my side to exaggerate myself as a person, and without her I slowly dissolve away. Suddenly, without her here, my confidence has gone, the sex drive is shot, the fun and enjoyment I find in life packs it’s bags and vacates with her, and I’m left here a little hollow, mourning until she returns home.
My personality runs off with her as well. I am now Black and Grey.