I can’t see anything looking forward. It’s blank. Unknown. I can only look backwards, on what fuzzy bits I can remember. As I gradually get more and more distressed day to day, I seem to do this looking backwards more and more.
Maybe it’s because I can’t see where I’m headed. I can’t see the future, but I’m desperate to know if this can get better — maybe something in my memories can help. I also wonder who I am. I revisit old ideas. Old interests. I feel like I don’t know who I am lately. The ground feels shaky under my feet. Everything feels like a tangle of unease and uncertainties.
I thought I was doing well for so long, I thought I was good and settled. Now I don’t know. I’m afraid. I don’t like the word scared, but I am. I’m scared. Afraid. Frequently, but I’m not sure what of. There’s an undercurrent of fear I can’t pinpoint.
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