I've been feeling really mixed-up lately.

Thats true, if an understatement. I'm often just so tired, and emotionally drained, and afraid, and incredibly sick of feeling useless and disconnected.

I haven't done any fiction writing at all for at least a week. It's been years since I went more than a day or two without writing at least a bit. I just suddenly have no heart for it. All of a sudden I feel disillusioned about it, even though it's a huge part of my life and my heart.

I absolutely don't want to go anywhere, or start anything, or expend my limited energy stores on the complex and changeable entities that are my fellow human beings.

I feel like I've neglected my relationship with God so much that trying to pick it up again will be like starting at square one, fifteen years down the drain, and that's the most absurd and exhausting and horrid thing I've ever heard. I still believe and I still know and my faith hasn't changed at all, but I feel like I can't make out myself within it. Am I supposed to?

The world is absolutely big and incredible and grand, but instead of being wonderful and an adventure-in-the-making, lately that's just been terrifying and cruel. I don't want to be a part of the world, because I feel like I'm made of glass—I'm slipping through my own fingers. I wonder who I am, and why.

And this is not (all) just an emotional spike because it's one in the morning. This has been a recurring thing for a couple of weeks now and I effing want someone to fix it.

I feel, I feel, I feel, and I don't know how to do things based on anything else but stupid feelings.

Right now I want to devolve into rambling about my failings, but that would be a bad idea and nobody wants to read that, not even the part of me that hates myself. So I'm just going to say goodnight. I hope you sleep better than I.