We keep coming back to this place — in these small madnesses of continuing on. I find myself yet again in your office trying to find words for the slowing of thoughts. These broken routines and rituals — 2 bus rides there and back, away from the comforting back and forth of books. Perhaps I romanticize the past in these small madnesses.
In the continuing on, sitting here when my brain feels much further away — across from you. We engage in this mechanistic dialogue. What are your options? In the uncertainties of meds, the weariness of pushing self. The wishing you had an opinion you could openly share — knowing you can’t tell me what to do; wishing you would. Between A and B is a series of interconnected diagonals.
And so we sit — what are your options? I don’t know. Tell me? I wish I could make this dissipate. For you I would. But I’ve been in this chair long enough to know I can’t. This hurts — a place of familiar indecision. Here’s where I was and here I sit today — feeling stuck. Wishing we were getting somewhere — three weeks ago was a series of readings and papers — following the syllabi, not knowing how to fill in the in-between.
I know this feeling well — that I will be spent and broken. And only this stuckness will remain. You needed to do something concrete. I understand. Adulting is terrifying at times. I have to make this better or fear the falling apart — familiar fear quickened by lack of space to cope. Not alone in this, but you know yourself. I wonder sometimes; as I try to separate myself from the needs of others.
I am exploring perhaps — in this fixed place. Are you finding yourself in corners, longing not to be? No, that remains the same. I sit across from you wanting to feel better, be better — not knowing how. I verbalize these long sublimated fears — wanting to disconfirm them. Not knowing how.
Your claims of support and being with feel real enough — in this routine sharing of muddled thoughts and feelings, I doubt myself yet again. Wanting to convey this experience lingering in my brain space — this is hard. I know. She wishes for a well-worn path. In normalizing this weariness, does the isolation lessen? Fears and doubts shared aloud.
Hoping to see you in 3 weeks as things keep getting done — seeing resolution. She continues on toward the door — down the hallway back to campus. Perhaps that’s enough, she thought. Letting these hopes sustain her in the weariness of in-between.