dp/dr

"I feel like I'm not really awake. Like time is flying by me in the most terrifying kind of way, and I can't escape the knowledge that I'm losing time that I will never have back. I don't think I've ever been so aware of it before. I can see it in the slow decay of my dog and how she's aging - her cloudy eyes, her weak bladder, unsteady bones - and it reminds me that we all are. The thing that sticks right in the pit of my stomach and won't let go is that I'm in such a haze that I can't appreciate anything the way I so desperately want to, and when we live in a world where nothing can stay forever, that is a hard pill to swallow. It's like there's a foggy windowpane between me and everything else and I've wiped at it until my hands are raw, but it's just not coming clear. I felt free and new and full of hope. Now, I feel like I can't properly feel, like everything is so mechanical. The season's changes don't seem real, like I'm only seeing and feeling a fraction of what my body takes in. Everything is less vivid than it should be...faded and washed-out, somehow. But I come off normal; fine. Because nothing has changed about me except the perception inside my own broken mind."