Sticking to my lines

Dreading the nice weather, more pressure to go out and do regular human being things - human doings. I see with indifference that it's so beautiful out there, flowers, new growth, lively birdsong everywhere and my dread deepens. I can't recall feeling this way, so heavily, before. The rain and cold lets me off the hook internally for my inaction, my sedentary state.

Not feeling the joy, the hope springs renewal rhetoric. I used to get so excited about Easter, for the chocolate not for the faith.

Detached, uninterested, flat. I don't care.

The effort to keep face, wondering if I'm fooling anyone. Everyone hopeful that I'm well. So I mostly stick to my lines because it is easier. People expect improvement, get frustrated when things don't change or for any reason really.

I don't care. I just thought "Because I cared too much and look what happened?" but that sounds so drama queen so false so insincere.

But I did care. too much. And I know I still do, so I clamp it down. Jed Clampettdown.

Yet another nothing new under the sun moment. It hurts to care, I wonder at my capacity for hurting. Yes, feelings hurt means I am alive. But feeling null - am I just pretty much dead inside, that's the closest, I've hit on something here. Irony, here come thy tears. I've been watching the walking dead, no stretch at all that I relate, to the dead ones.

Yet there is some small part I can hear it way down saying "but Kelly, when death comes for you  you're not going to want to go". Is this true, or will I continue to seek it, passively, hoping, like a stranger in a crowded room, it will notice me and take me under its comforting wings?

I don't know.