I need to write. I don't know what to write or anything. There is no purpose but there also is. I should do a blog post but I also don't feel it right now, so this is whatever this is.

I'm lost, but I'm not. I feel broken, but at the same time whole. I feel more like me than ever; but who am I now?

Why am I struggling? Have I become so numb that it's a problem? I feel like there have been moments in the last few weeks where I found the feeling, I think is content. Or is that being numb? Have I ever been content? Have I ever been happy for an extended time? Or has it only been in passing, fleeting moments and not something extended or sustainable.

Do I need to be happy? I'm comfortable with just being content and comfortable for the majority. I think that's where "there" is (answering the question of: if I will get there... where is "there".) I feel like that's better than happy. That's sustainable and happiness – true happiness – is fleeting and not sustainable in the long term. Just like depression and sadness to an extent. They aren't necessarily my default.

My default is nothing. But if I must think then it definitely shifts to meh, eh, blah, sad, depressed. But that's only when I am asked a direct question and I am forced to think... well how am I really...

I don't know if this is really helping at all, but is that a requirement for me to continue? This is probably beneficial over all.

I need to relax. I'm shaken. Deaths are sobering mainly those that really affect you. Those that hit you and you don't understand why or have the capability to fully feel okay to grieve.

Death is odd. I accept that I will die. I can handle my own in-existence that is acceptable, and sometimes welcome. But others nonexistence... that I don't appreciate or accept.

I am always going to want to be more. I don't know if my thoughts right now are all connected. But I'll write them anyway.

I don't feel real right now. I feel like I've dissociated. I feel outside of myself right now, like I'm standing in the archway by the art studio while I'm really here on the couch writing.

Who is that person? Do they matter? Do they make a difference? Am I having an existential crisis? Does anything I do help? How do I know? Do I need to do more? How much more? Am I enough? Has my life so far brought good? How much good? Does that matter though? Some good is better than no good.

But I can always do more, be more... Will I ever be enough for myself?
Who am I doing this for? Do I really care? Or am I just trying to make sure I don't feel guilty when I die? I feel guilty for having my life, for wasting away when someone else would do something better with the time I have.

Do we ever have enough time?

What even is time... Time is the real enemy. Something that is limited for us all. Something that never stops. Can not be paused or changed. You can try to buy time, by extending your health but that's not even a guarantee.

Chaos with some order, minuscule order. We think that order means something. But does it? On a bigger scale... does it make any difference?

I am scared to feel because I don't know what I am allowed to feel. I'm scared to feel because I don't always understand my feelings or the lack of feelings.

Are they a lack of feelings? Or are they there and I don't actually feel them? Is it numbness or ignorance of how to comprehend it.

You don't know what you've got till it's gone.

Sometimes I only really notice my feelings when they're over or when something is done, gone, dead, will not come back or be the same again.

I'm lost but I know where I am and where I'm going, but I don't know how to get there or when to leave. I can see the way but I'm unable to move down the path to start the journey. What journey? Where am I going? I know that I won't fully understand or see it until I'm there.

I feel like I can only speak to myself in vagueness. Because I can't understand my feelings... or maybe I understand them and just don't want them. I don't always like my feelings, but that doesn't stop them from being there.

What does it mean to be real? Am I real or fake? How can I know? How does anyone know? Do I really struggle with things or is my mind making it's own reality?

Do you see what I see?

This is nonsense.

Who am I? And how am I me? What makes me, me and you, you?

Who are you?

Really at your core. Who are you?

Do you know me more than I know myself?

If so, why?

Is it because I don't see me how you see me?

Because I have an inability to really accept me? Because I am only seeing my failures and can not see the good?

Is there good?

Am I good?

What is good and why do I qualify?

Is this what life is? Endless questions with answers I can't give, won't get, won't believe even if they are truth?

What is truth if it can't be proven without a doubt?

Does some bad cancel the good? Does a lot of bad mean the good is cancelled out? How do you know where that balance is? Am I good? Bad? Neutral? Will I ever know?

Will anyone?