Out of Reach

There are days where I feel like I’m here, but also… not.

Like I’m moving through my life from a few feet above my own head, watching myself do things without feeling connected to any of it.

It’s a strange kind of distance.

Empty in a way I can’t quite describe.

These are the moments where memory doesn’t feel like something I own. Everything I did hours or days ago slips away like someone else lived it. Not everything slips away but I know so much is missing. Like looking at a book, knowing there is a lot there but only being able to read a chapter. Looking at myself feels like looking at a stranger, I know it’s me, but it doesn’t feel like me.

It’s like reaching for a box on the top shelf.

You can see it clearly.

You can feel the shape of it.

Your fingers are almost there.

But you can’t grab it enough to pull it down.

You know your life is right there.

You just can’t touch it.

Today has been one of those days.

My body feels heavy in a way that makes the simplest movement feel like too much effort. I can feel myself typing this, but it doesn’t feel like the thoughts are happening inside my own mind. More like I’m observing them form somewhere just outside of me.

I know I’m alive.

I just don’t feel alive.

And admitting that makes something in my body drop… this weighted feeling that shows up out of nowhere, like my bones suddenly doubled in density.

It’s not a bad day.

Just a different kind of day.