running on empty

oh, the panic. just when i start feeling somewhat less sad, just when the misery doesn't weigh on me like a wet sand bag on my head, it's then i realize there is nothing there at all. no weight. nothing attached to me, nothing keeping me grounded.
the only reason i'm still on the ground has nothing to do with gravity. it is because my toes are clenched so tight after digging through the dirt to the thin roots running under the weeds so i don't fly out into the upper atmosphere and disintegrate. oh god, is it scary!

at least the sadness was something tangible i could grab on to, something to care about, something to think about. now i have a gaping space of nothing but air. there is no man in my life to make me happy or sad. there is no joy or suffering derived from my job. i have no friends that i look forward to seeing, i have no hope for anything other than getting through the next few hours without crying in public, and then hoping i'll feel alive enough when i get home so i can get done the chores i need to to stop myself from sinking further into a life of nothing.

what i mean is; there are goals i can see ahead. they are small, and they are distant. for instance, paying off a few ccs: a few hundred here, a thousand there. finishing off these smaller goals can help me build the groundwork for larger goals, like buying a car, traveling... but it's only recently that i started working on the 'long-term' after years of regression and following the 'short-term'. when all i can feel is empty meaningless drivel, my brain has the hardest time reminding me that there is something ahead and to keep pushing.

ironically, having lost the main focus in my life recently has forced me to find other focus points. losing my boyfriend has thrown me out of a warm cozy house with a fire-place and down comforters into a blizzard in the middle of the high-plains with the wind ripping through my skin and the piercing snow hitting the ground like daggers as far as you can see. all i want to do is get back into that warm house. i can see the flames flicker and lick the brick encircling and containing it, harnessing it for the man sitting in front comfortably waiting for the next woman he invites to sit by his side. i know there is no point in banging on the door or throwing myself against the window. he knew what it was like outside when he picked me up, opened the door, and tossed me through it, the whole time saying, 'it's not you, it's me.'

as i stand there shivering and my teeth chattering, i notice the steamroller parked a few yards from the house. the steam from the engine is still coming off the steel even though the ignition has been turned off. if i had stayed in that house much longer, the wheels would have been turning, and the house, with it's fireplace and warmth would have been demolished. it just wasn't to be that i stay there. i had to be thrown out, because i wouldn't leave when i had a chance earlier when the snow had not yet reached where i now stood.