Random Introspection

I choose not to speak
because I realize
that whatever I have to say
is too much for people
to try to make sense of.

I myself can't quite
get to the root of my emotions
and wherever it is coming from.
I just know how I feel
and how it's driving me crazier everyday.

I also know that
nothing anybody can tell me
can make me feel better.
All they can give are words
and words are not what I need.

I'm not happy.
Work is no longer giving me
the self-fulfilling feeling it used to give.
And I'm doing this at the cost of my marriage.
I keep asking myself what I'm doing here,
when I'm supposed to be somewhere else
undoing the knots a year has cost me.

It's almost a year now,
since I left what I now consider home.
I fear that things may not be quite the same
when I go back and I'm afraid to admit
what that might mean for me.

I never want to talk about it
since I feel that saying them out loud
will only make my fears real.

I miss talking.
I never seem to do much of that anymore.
My life may be filled with laughter, fun and work,
But talking has always made me feel more human
specially when someone who really matters is listening.

I don't like how my life took a screeching turn
from elation to routine depression.
It makes me wonder where I went wrong
and turned up here.

Everyday is a cycle.
The routine has left me numb and hollow.
I sometimes feel like I've left my body
and I'm watching this woman go about her day
like a robotic, passionless machine.
I've seem to have forgotten how unfiltered JOY feels like
The little bits of laughter throughout the day
seem superficial in a way that they don't really last.
At the end of the day,
I still come home to an empty room
dreading the next morning's repeat of the day before.

I feel like I've been robbed of the only good thing in my life
and I'm afraid to admit that I may have been part of the cause.