I keep a pair of working boots within eyeshot. It's a reminder of when I was not tethered to this chair. It's part of my mourning, I suppose. I'm trying not to deny the feelings I have. They said it's important to face them head on. To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm truly dealing with them or simply becoming numb. I grapple with this conundrum each day.
I have a recurring dream where I'm set free at last. The daylight burns my eyes as two heavy doors creak open. There is a moment of fear, when the familiar is unfamiliar but I manage to put one foot in front of the other until my whole body is propelled forward. It has never progressed beyond this point.
Have I mentioned the clock sitting on the mantle? I've been meaning to get rid of it. Tick tock tick tock, a perpetual drilling sound in my head. It's not like I need a reminder of the excruciating inertia of time. It has to go.
Someone once said "Without purpose, there is nothing." I understand that now more than ever. I try to occupy my mind with useful thoughts although I can't execute on any ideas I may have. I think that's the most painful part for me.
Mostly I spend hours pondering the possibility of an afterlife. The irony of this makes me laugh given that I was an atheist not so long ago. Never say never as the man says.
Here's a peculiar thing. I don't remember the last time I looked in a mirror. How strange that is in an age of unbounded vanity. Instead, my state of mind dictates my perceived appearance...which is not good, by the way.
Beyond the space I occupy is a room that was once the hub of my daily activities. I would wake up early and, after a walk, brew some coffee and then sit down to attempt to write my masterpiece. I wrote quite a few novels back then and even had one published but the reviews were cruel and I stopped working for almost a year.