It’s been one of those days, weeks, and maybe even months. Where everything seems futile and pointless. All of the fun has leaked out and even laughing seems fake and hollow. I don’t feel like seeing anyone except for those very few closest to me so that I don’t have to explain why I’m not in a typically good mood. It’s simply exhausting to spend time with casual friends in order to keep up the facade of fun. I don’t really want to be alone, but I also don’t feel like inflicting myself on anyone else.
I’m not exactly sure what started this upheaval. Could be my job, or maybe because I’m homesick, or it could be that as I’ve read through my old journals, I’ve ripped off scabs from old wounds I was surprised to find hadn’t yet healed. Maybe all of the above.
This is getting old
wanting to do anything else but what I’m doing now.
I can’t enjoy the present
as I’m wishing it all away
Hoping for a more self-contented now.
Where is God’s hand?
Looking back, I can’t see His fingerprints
for tears have washed them all away.
If I don’t feel a push in any direction,
do I rely on the restless feelings
I harbor inside?
I’m trapped in my own self-imposed universe,
a cold, dark planet, deprived of oxygen
void of peace, love, and joy
and thick with discontent.