Separated …

This was a writing from a time right after my life fell apart. 

What do I feel?
Separated.

Separated from life.
From God.
From family.
From who I thought I was.
From who I think I am.
From everything that I though defined me.

Separated from a future that I thought I had.
Separated from security.

Separated.

Overwhelmed.

I feel overwhelmed when I walk into my apartment.
Boxes and junk just sitting where it was dropped months ago.
I live out out bags.
My things are familiar links to my past – someone’s past
– not even my own past for many things in boxes.

I feel exhausted.
No energy even to open these boxes and sort through anything.

I feel nothing.
I feel everything.

What do I feel?

Frustrated.
A cast off.
Unwanted.

And then the next door neighbor blurts out some idiotic noise – deranged, loud, disruptive.

My internet connection is gone.
I took a hot bath.

I can’t even sit in my bed with any quiet and peace of mind
with the neighbors next door.

I can hear them having sex.
I can hear them horse playing like imbeciles with their kids.
I can hear them screaming at them to not miss the bus.

My house smell like cigarettes.

Their smoking oozes through the walls.

And I am trying to not be depressed.

Just found out I have a genetic condition that pre-disposes me to depression, strokes and heart disease – sensitivity to toxins.

And my adrenals are toast.

When I am alone,
I don’t even want to eat.

I have lost my home.

My son is in college.
He never contacts me.
I know that he is busy with his life.

My friends don’t call me.
And anyway, they are probably sick of hearing about my life.

I like some of my job
– and it’s really the best job I’ve ever had working for a company,
but I don’t care about politics.

I don’t care about politics – in government or in business.

I don’t care about business.

I don’t care about the economy.

I don’t care.

I don’t care about money.

I don’t care about working.

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I don’t have any money left.
My ex-husband has abandoned me,
and has provided as little support and help as possible.

My attorney just won’t get the job done.

I just don’t care.

Don’t care.

Don’t care.

Don’t care.

Don’t care.

Things do not matter.

Stuff does not matter.

Money does not matter.

Technology does not matter.

Nothing really matters.

N o t h i n g .

I used to think I was supposed to be somebody, do something with my life.

That was a lie.

I used to think that I belonged in this world.

I do not.

I don’t even know if I am supposed to be happy or sad.
I don’t even know what I am supposed to feel – if anything?

I read in a book on discernment that we are not our feelings.
We are not our thoughts.

I want to know what I am then.

Who am I?