Hollow.  I feel hollow.  Emptied out.  Empty of dreams.  Empty of hopes.  Of expectations.  Of goals.  Of desires.  Of wants.  Like a gutted fish…everything inside is gone.  Except for the pain. There is still a great deal of pain.  And terror.
It became overwhelming, this feeling of hollowness, when I was driving to work the other day.  It was as if my senses expanded, my reality opened, and I saw my bleak existence for what it is. I was no longer able to disguise it or push it away. Or make it pretty.
I get up.  Take my dogs out to do their business, feed them, fix my coffee, get dressed, drive to work.  I work 9-1/2 hours a day without a break.  Then I drive home, let the dogs out, feed them, get something to eat myself, throw it up.  Boot up the computer and check Facebook.  Check Twitter.  Have a cup of coffee.  Eat more.  Throw that up too.  Have another cup of coffee, maybe, play solitaire, check my e-mail, which is mostly junk, let the dogs out a few more times (sigh).  I think about everything I should be doing, but that I don’t have the energy for.  Cleaning, organizing, or even being creative, reading, writing.  Just can’t muster the mental wherewithal to make it happen.  I hate living in the conditions I live in…such an out of control mess.  So depressing.  Which is part of why I can’t muster the mental wherewithal.  And so the vicious cycle continues.  And so it goes undone.  And finally, I take the dogs out for the last time for the night, plug the phones in so they will be charged and ready to go the next day, figure out what I will wear tomorrow, get ready for bed and go to sleep.  Next morning, repeat.  And the next.  And the next.
Weekends aren’t much, if any, better.  The dogs usually get me up at 4:30 or 5:00 and I feed them, then take them out.  But I get to go back to sleep…a luxury.  I get up whenever I wake up, which feels decadent.  That is usually around 8 or 8:30.  At which point…guess…I take the dogs out yet again.  Then I get dressed and run errands.  I generally visit a couple of grocery stores and get gas in my car so I’ll be ready for the coming work week.  Sometimes I have to go to the pharmacy.  Occasionally I run to the post office.  Even more rarely, I’ll meet a friend for coffee.  Then I’m home, unloading way too many groceries for one person, but this ED must be fed.  Even if it all just goes in the toilet, the ritual continues and it is usually more active on the weekends.  I eventually log on the computer.  Check Facebook and Twitter.  Read e-mail.  Delete junk.  Play solitaire.  Drink coffee.  Take a nap.  Take my girls out a few hundred times (how DO they make it all day during the week when I’m at work?).  Then I go to bed, usually crashing on the couch whenever I get sleepy.  Yes, sleeping on the couch Friday and Saturday night is my big reward for making it through the week.  I live such an exciting life…
Sunday, I may hit yet another grocery store because I get really insecure about running out of food.  I take a nap; maybe two.  Take the dogs out a few hundred times again.  Wash my hair.  Do my nails.  Figure out what I’m going to wear to work on Monday.  Feel the depression descending.  Go to bed.  Wonder where the weekend went.
Hollow.  Empty.  Lonely.  Meaningless.  Hopeless.
I tell myself that I need to do something fun every now and then.  But what is fun?  I have forgotten how to have fun.  Can’t even imagine what I might do that would be fun.  I don’t have anyone to call.  My “friends” have families that they center their lives around – rightly so – and they have friends that they are much closer to; friends they make a priority.  I don’t fit in well.  I take work.  So those get-togethers don’t happen often.
I run from the stark emptiness of my reality.  I pretend it isn’t what it is.  But sometimes it sneaks up on me.  Sometimes it gets in my face and I can’t avoid it.
I’m so weary.  So tired.  Even when I wake up, I’m exhausted.  True, I usually only get 5 or, if I’m lucky, 6 hours of sleep.  But no amount of sleep can erase the weariness from my mind and soul.  My weekend naps prove this.  It’s not about sleep.  I’m just worn out.  Worn down.  Broken.  Defeated.
This is my life.  This is my world.  If it weren’t for these two annoying little Miniature Schnauzers who have to go out SO MANY TIMES, there would be no life whatsoever in my daily sphere.
Hollow.  I have nothing to look forward to.  Far too much to regret.  Far too many things to fear when I peek at the future and catch a glimpse of what I can expect to find there.  It’s terrifying.  Thinking is dangerous.  It involves seeing all of my bad decisions.  How little I have to look forward to.  How much I have to fear going forward and how unstable I am…mentally, emotionally, financially.  I’m so broken, I can barely navigate the day.  It’s all I can do to get myself to work.  All I can do to take one step.  Then another.  If I’m fortunate, another.  I live in the empty nothingness of the moment and the moment is endless.  And Empty.  And pointless.
I am a shell.  The pain echoes through the emptiness within me.  The terror reverberates off my outer walls.  Dead man walking.

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