Welcome to Nothing-Ever-Gets-Done Land
Population: 1- stunnedandstunted.
Weather: Always cold, even when it’s sunny.
Atmosphere: Smokey. Open some blinds, S&S!
I wake up and my head fills with ideas about things I could do and things I need to do. I move slowly because there’s no rush. I like delaying tasks. Or maybe like is the wrong word. I feel more comfortable taking my time. That doesn’t sound right either. I’m lazy? I am afraid? Thinking about doing things is exhausting, let alone actually doing them? Anyway, time passes. I tell myself that I will get such and such done by a certain time and when that time comes, I delay the task for a bit longer. NOTHING EVER GETS DONE!
I have a phone call I have to make. Shit, I just realised I have a couple of calls to make. I have work to do. My place needs cleaning. I am running out of clean clothes etc etc.
I imagine myself making a phone call, getting flustered, losing my voice, forgetting to say important things or asking stupid questions and I freak out. I consider doing a load of washing but end up getting distracted by pens which need organising right now!
I think I delay or stop doing things because it will drag out the day a bit. I don’t want time to move too quickly, it already has and I have lost so many years. I sort of exist in my own timezone. While the rest of the world moves forward, I dig my heels in. I want to go backwards in time. I wish I could go back and change things for myself. I know I can’t. Every therapist I mention this to seems to enjoy pointing out the obvious. I have to move forward.
Comfort and closeness and friendships and parties and less worry and being spontaneous and not over-thinking/over-planning and dreams and love and lovers and the ability to keep still and relaxing and unpredictability (in a good way) and not being so afraid of everything.