Sometimes I feel completely empty. Days spent in happier times combed over for clues that the mere idea of happiness is a lie we tell ourselves to trick the brain from recognizing the sheer horror of everything.
Sometimes I feel completely full. Overflowing with a feeling that this thing right here, this moment, just the one right now is everything I want. And resolve to try as hard as I can to make this moment come more often, to make a lifetime of this moment.
Sometimes I feel nothing, which is not the same as feeling empty. The rational mind screaming that anyone, any normal person, would be feeling anything as compared to the nothing that comes.
Sometimes I feel fear. Anxious over success or failure or both. Questioning everything, trusting nothing.
Sometimes I cry, but not often.
Sometimes I sleep and sometimes I do not. But I never feel rested, even when I am at rest.
Most of the time is spent waiting, unable to move.