Pelgris

The problem with writing about inner turmoil is that as you deal with your emotional trauma that voice which drives you to write gets quieter and quieter
Sometimes depression yells pretty loudly, sometimes anxiety breaks through and gibbers all over the page. But that bleak dying cry from the abyss is silent. And this is better, I know it’s better. It’s just hard to reach that emotional depth. And I wonder if the wounds are really healed or if there’s just so much scar tissue that I can’t feel through it.
I feel like I cry about things which never would have touched me before. I don’t know if that’s progress or emotional honesty. I’m on a self guided journey. There are good and bad things to celebrate in that, but sometimes, you just want someone to tell you that you are doing the right thing. But who can? When you are adrift in the wilderness.
Even when you are with someone, you are alone. What else could you be, in the white noise silence. In the space of their lives and the distance between you