The Tunnel

Each time I want to believe it has come to a stop.
That the sadness I've felt is a mere phase. But it never is. Rather, it seems to be a familiar presence. Not completely unwelcome, but old and tiring. I look at people time and again who express happiness or seem contented and I am as much in awe as I am confused. Are they really? How do they do it? What is it about their lives? Maybe I deserve this because I don't make the time to meditate or exercise. Because pulling myself out of bed and feeding myself is the biggest victory of my day. I dread coming to work, not because it's work, I don't think, but because I feel imprisoned. Imprisoned by myself, my brain, my very being. I don't cope well and I'm grateful for most of the effects of the medication, but sometimes it makes me wonder if I can even feel anymore. When I cry, it seems to almost come out of nowhere and sometimes I only feel the urge, but cannot. Not that crying without cognitive reason is much of a new sensation. I suppose I just don't know how to gauge progress. What is progress for me? How far have I come?
Where am I in my brain? I feel lost. I feel like I want to sleep for forever and I'm not even sad about missing out.
I retreated into the bathroom a moment ago, but couldn't get the tears to fall, even though moments before I had to hold them back from behind my computer. Who am I?
Maybe I just need sleep and need to fix this recent diagnosis of sleep apnea. What if treating that fixes nothing and I'm just as dazed as before? What if I can't find the focus I need to be a better employee? What if I never stop asking "what ifs"? Is this my life?
"For now," said a much smarter voice in my head.
I wonder if I have an internal Buddhist in there somewhere.
Also, I can't believe it has been yearly a year since I wrote regularly. I think I spent much of that year convinced I was happy and only wrote as much in the past due to absence of happiness. That only true creativity comes from sadness. That's not how I want it to be. I believe writing helps to cleanse the toxins that seem to run rampant in my system and I don't even realize until they've taken over and I can't see out of the tunnel. This fucking dark tunnel.

To know.

Days like this I wonder how I even function at all. How do I do things ever.

My heart aches. I feel trapped in my cube.

I couldn't barely wake up and get out of bed.

I saw my counselor. 

I'm trying to be productive, but each moment feels like a struggle.

Why is my brain the way it is? Am I not doing enough to fix me?

Has there been progress? I don't know. I hope and hope, but don't know.

How are you with me? 

Will I always feel discontented and restless? What kind of life is that?

Not one I'd wish on anyone. 

Am I the only one who feels like I'm stuck in one place, even though my brain is screaming to run?

I don't know.

I don't know why there is you.

Sometimes I fear you don't believe me when I describe how fucked up I think I am on any given day.

Until that moment when you realize I've been speaking the truth the whole time.

My heart aches.

I want to feel contented, but sometimes it seems the more I grasp for it, the further away it is.

You make it seem so easy and I envy that about you.

I look at those that seem happy to try to replicate their efforts.

Try to go a day without wanting to cry or feel self-pity.

Why is this life, this life?