I’ve hit a wall
This brick wall tastes like Subway sandwiches. Stale bread, wilted vegetables, with a side of hydrogenated oil. A meager attempt at saving my children from Type 2 diabetes while still wasting zero precious minutes on preparing, or even thinking about a meal.
This brick wall tastes like tear stained cheeks, unbrushed teeth, and utter disappointment that we’ll only read one book before bed tonight. It tastes like burned toast with a vitamin, served in the car for breakfast.
It sounds only of forced branches snapping. Muted laughter. Deflated excitement. A temper that may never be found again.
This is what this brick wall feels like.
Incomplete thoughts. Sidetracked conversations. Distracted promises.
It feels like aching eye sockets, longing for relief. Broken friendships and relationships that ended before they even began. It is the tugging of limbs in every direction, yet still having to place one foot confidently in front of the other toward the one place you don’t want to go.
It’s the feeling of my own hand being the only thing supporting the weight of my head and the rest of the world.
It feels like streaming tears when you read the word “burnout” because you’ve forgotten that you once were on fire.
It feels like absolute failure.