Psychobabble

The last month has been like a big, charcoal gray cloud looming just a bit over my head, occasionally punctuated by a few timid rays of sunshine. A lot of the feelings I have now are almost sickeningly familiar and are almost perversely enjoyable, that old sense of queasily contented self-containment, in particular. I always alarm myself at how well I hold up to things, probably mostly due to my terror of deep sadness. It's just managed to manifest as a general hazy gloom and negativity that waits to pounce whenever I let my guard down. I used to love my alone time, revel in it...but now it just makes me feel strange.

I wonder if some of this feeling is me grappling with this strange adulthood transition. I am no longer a part of my family pod; I am a little seed that has blown away to strike out all by myself, unsure where I'll land. I am such a very small part of this huge world. I used to be so naively excited about taking on the world, but now I'm overwhelmed, and I don't want to be alone. I am not a loner, but I feel like I'm almost forced to be a lot of the time because I just can never take the easy way around anything.

I'm not sure where my sense of never-aloneness went. I always had a sense that God/the universe/whatever had its arms wrapped around me, always watching, always helping, but I keep losing that feeling. I feel almost not a part of myself, even, like I detach from my body sometimes. I wish I could say it was highly effective meditation, but it's like I'm outside of my own self, marveling at this whole swirling life that belongs to this thing called Ursula, a word that I automatically respond to and somehow sums up this animated form. Maybe I'm really a prophetess on some higher plane of consciousness. That would explain things.

I can't afford to lose myself right now. What happened to the indestructible me?

I don't like being this weird emo kid.