Unconscious mind speaks in limited images. Illusion of self. The pity party has to end. This is not me. I got caught in my own trap and forgetting how to fly, built my own cage. Where is the love? I can't find it anywhere. It is not within or without. I am without much hope now, pretending this thing I live matters. It doesn't, except in the simplest ways. My responsibility tethers me. I long to run into the desert and sing down the moon. A place where no one knows my name. A place where I can be anyone I want to be. This is not me. It is a delusion, a spectacle of everything I abhor. I am stuck within this giant unhappiness, chipping away at the walls. I built them, but how do I tear them down? How do I find a love that is buried so deep I can't begin to know where to look?
One day at a time. Baby steps.
