When the grim reaper drags you by your blanket

Im wrapped up in a brown furry blanket from my boyfriend (ish?) car. It’s been too many psych wards and hospitals. I feel my own death imminent in the air, and I’m scared yet not, because when you think you’re feeling all the pain in the world then nothing matters more than getting rid of said pain. What is my use in *this* world besides proving that living>pain? I’m not being dramatic–  I want to speak my reality. I have loved and I have lost. But I haven’t found myself. How does one live without a self? I haven’t figured that out.

Once upon a time, when someone asked me what my favorite color was I’d say “anything but white”. White symbolized a pure page of paper. What “white” itched in me was a desire to scribble– doodle; meaningless stuff. I remember as a kid going to school in France during the Summer and doodling in the margins of my work. My desk-mate asked me appalled, “why are you doing that? it’s not allowed.” I guess I’ve never been able to deal with space, or emptiness. Now white is my favorite color. I long for that purity and that absence of color. I’ve scribbled too much over the canvass of my life; now it resembles nothing.

I sort of wish I hadn’t shared this blog with my loved ones because I just want to speak my truth unadulterated, and my loved ones who read this will freak out and call me etc. This is obviously a petty thing to be annoyed at, I’m lucky to still have loved ones at all. But sometimes life consists of pain and you just need to move past it. I know I’ll move past this, I just want to write about it, process and move on.

PS- lost my job at Booz Allen. During the Corona virus. Am I the only one that sees the irony?