I find that on an average day, most everyday, I am so fucking bored. No interest in doing anything, quite literally have to force myself to go out and get what I need done. Then come crawling back into the hole that is my room. The room, this room, that is filled with so many triggers and reminders, yet I cannot escape it’s grasp. I want to be done, I want to be gone and I cannot seem to release myself from the restraints that hold me here. I try to move on, move forward, go back to how things were. But that will not happen, that cannot happen because of piece of me is gone. A piece of me is dead. How can you go back to the beginning if the middle was ripped out and burnt to ash. There is no old me, there is only this me that I must learn to adapt to. I prey on the patience, yet I cannot find any to keep. I am anxious always, paranoia is a cruel environment to be lost in. That is now all my mind seems to focus on. My barriers torn down, my walls crumbled, my glass shattered. The house, home that is my mind, I could once retreat to for comfort and now there is only pain and horrible reminders. I am a stranger in my own body. I do not fit, because I am not me anymore. How can you be you, but know you are not you? I am scarred not scared. Prepared in a sense that I am always prepared. Always on my toes, so to speak, ready for the next wave to hit me. That is how my days are, forcing myself out into the open only to flinch and cringe at every honk, chirp, person, at anything, at everything. No one is safe anymore. No one is worth trusting, regardless, my trust is depleted and I am not certain if it will ever be refilled. It has been emptied so many times, why would put the effort, from the will I no longer have, into trust. Trust, a word that has backfired like a car into my face. A big banging puff of air, knocking the wind out of mind and leaving me feeling polluted and scarred. I am bored of myself, the person I no longer know and the person I suppose I am now. Bored of life in all it’s glorious shit that continues to rain down on me. Sure there is always a rainbow after it rains, but I have yet to see one. I somehow feel I may never, or by the time I do, it will be far too late to bask in the colors. I am too gray now, I was gray then, gray is where I fit, gray is what I am. Boring.