[untitled]

I can't stop asking these questions of myself and everything around me. I can't stop questioning every move I make and what signifigance it has. Or why I keep on moving. Or why I exist at all.
And maybe I should get out of my own head sometimes. I try. But the doors are always locked and it's like I'm trapped. I am not sad. I am not depressed. I am not anything. Confused maybe if I had to put a word to it.
I can't put words on any of it. I. I. One little vowell represents to much. Me. It. Her. I.
I've lost track of myself. And I can't find her. And it makes me want to cry. I feel lost, and alone. Like when you're in the supermarket with you're parents and you lose them and there's that sinking feeling that you'll never be found again and you start to freak out. That's where I'm at.
This life is what I make it. This life is what I make it. This life, is what I make it. This, Life, is what I make it. This life is, what? I make it. This life is what... I... make it?
These words have to be true. They've got to be true. They must be true. And they can't be. I feel this pressure to become. Not anything specific but to just... grow into myself. Be successful. Contribute to society. participate Participate PARTICIPATE
It's like gravity is pushing me down and smashing my spine. And my brain is going to start oozing out of my ears.
I know. I think too much. I know I know I know. But I can't stop this all. I can't stop time, it's getting away from me and I'm just sitting here. I am just sitting here.
I'm missing something.
I've
got
to be.