Creative Pieces of the Distorted Mind

I've been having one of those days again. Those days where everything I do, everything I see, everything I pass, is barely noticed. It's like this daze feeling when in fact I'm just stuck in this muse which I can't get out off.

There were those days where I could just snap out of it and just move on with life. Then there are days like these where I just don't know what to do or where to go. Many times in the past years have I had my fair share of both being dissapointed and dissapointing. I hate to admit it but it seems that in the past 2 years, the latter has been more or less a stigma which goes along with the mention of my name.

I don't know which is worse; the thought of being extremely unproductive, or that I can't pull myself out of this. Why is it that whenever I think that this time it's going to be different, I never fail to prove myself wrong. Right now I wished that I could just huddle in a corner and cry my heart out like how I used to. Because then after the tears have dried, I could just move on with life. But now I just can't seem to do that anymore. Not only do I find it almost impossible to tear, but also to just brush off those thoughts and continue walking.

Everytime I turn to my right and stare at the list which I had done to remind myself of the worst that could happen, I only seem to find myself staring aimlessly at the white piece of sheet. These things which was once effective for me to get hold of myself seems to be drifting off further and faster. The harder I stare, the faster the black ink seems to be fading back into the white until all that is left is just the reflection of how out of hand I had allowed things to become.

I wished I could just kneel down, or fall back, or collapse even. Whatever it takes just to make me feel the urgency of all this that is happening. Right now, time is spinning so fast that I couldn't even catch a mere glimpse of the whirlwind I'm in. All I could see and feel is as if I'm in a vacumm. Just waiting till my physical being could no longer stand it and disperse into a million separate particles and be sucked into whatever that is surrounding this timeless space.

An hour had passed since I started this post. I was hoping that I could end this nicely. Maybe put it some optimistic lines to make myself feel better. Like how writing always makes me feel better. But somehow I can't seem to do that this time. How pathetic is it that I couldn't even fake a happy note to finish this up?