Notes from the Middle of the Mess

No clarity. Just fragments.

• I opened the window today and just sat there. I didn’t read. Didn’t plan. Didn’t reach for my phone. I just let the air in and let myself be boring. It felt new.

• Some mornings I wake up and scroll out of habit. Other mornings I stare at the ceiling and let my thoughts pile up like unopened mail.

• There are people waiting on me. I keep saying “I’ll get to it soon.” I don’t know what “soon” means anymore.

• There’s a glass of water on my nightstand from three days ago. I keep refilling it without washing it. It feels like a metaphor, but I’m too tired to chase it down.

• My to-do list says “journal, walk, respond to emails, clean.” I did none of it yesterday. Today I crossed off one thing just so I could feel like I exist.

• I cried while slicing strawberries. It wasn’t about the strawberries.

• I texted “I’m okay” and immediately wanted to follow up with “actually, not really, but I don’t know how to explain it.” I didn’t send that part.

• There’s a type of silence that feels like safety. I miss it.

• I watched a movie I’ve seen a dozen times just to feel familiar again. I didn’t need new plotlines. I just needed to remember what predictable feels like.

• I’m not looking for silver linings. I’m just looking for breath. One slow breath at a time.

• I’m tired of making meaning out of everything. Not every mess is a lesson. Not every breakdown needs a moral. Sometimes things just fall apart. That’s it.

• I want quiet, but not loneliness. I want to be seen, but not analyzed. I want softness that doesn’t have to prove it’s strong.

• I found a sticky note on my mirror that says “Keep going.” I don’t remember writing it. I’m glad I did.

• I’ve stopped pretending that I’m okay just to make people comfortable. If the mess makes them leave, they weren’t meant to stay.

• I’m in it. Not past it. Not over it. Not transforming it. Just... in it. And somehow, that’s real enough.