My empire of dirt

Numb.

Numb, is the real answer if you ask me how I am.

I'll probably tell you "fine" or "exhausted," I have a number of stock answers that are somewhat true. I am both fine and perpetually exhausted. I'm always fine. It doesn't matter. Five layers down I'm sobbing in the corner. But on the surface? Great. Just.

If I hold it together for another 60 hours my roommates will be out of town, I'll be in the midst of a four day weekend and I can quietly and conveniently just break down. I'm living two seconds from a breakdown all the time right now. I have been for weeks now. But I'm good at being numb. I'm good at walls. And I'm really fucking good at self destructive behavior.

Please, I mean, being a drunken floozy is better than being numb right? At least, at least, there's some human interaction. At least I feel something other than going through the motions.

But I've chosen being numb. Because when I look, when I let myself dive below the layers, below the  brick walls and titanium plates, I can't stop, I can't stop crying. I miss home. I miss my family. I miss having somebody to come home to. I don't know how to live like this. And I feel like a failure because I don't know how to exist without codependency. But I also have no desire to actually move back home. I want to visit, but not live there. I just want the ocean and stars. Just for a minute. A minute would be enough.

Here, here I'm doing so well careerwise. That's supposed to be enough. That's suppposed to be everything I want.

But it's 2am, and I let myself relax enough that the tears just won't stop.

And I can't figure out what I need to change.

But please let me feel something other than this.

Anything.

Anything other than this.