combustion

I have filled my time with so many books lately, I do not know where one ends and the other begins.  I don’t know why that is. Or maybe I do.  It’s much easier to experience someone else’s problems from the outside looking in, rather than my own.  I’d much rather be a spectator, selfish as that may sound. “Let me read about yours instead of looking inwardly at myself”.  

Is it denial?  Or is it the fact that I have no idea what my issues are?  Actually, a better way to put it would be…I really don’t know how to explain anything going in on in my head through words.  I really don’t. I wish I could take *feeling* and lay it out on a table.  “Here! See! Do you ever feel this? WHAT IS IT?”  That would be so much simpler. 

I feel like I am everywhere and nowhere all at once.

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