Driven by Nothing

Floaty.

That's how I feel inside.  Floaty.  It's not a word I've ever used before and I can't say I know what it means (literally or to anyone else) but that's how I'd describe what's going on inside me.

When asked by my therapist, "Tell me, how do you feel?" that's the word that comes to mind.

When pressed I'd say that I feel the shell of me, the structure of my exterior — but inside? Inside it's as if the core of me has dissolved into an inner atmosphere.  My feeling self feels disintegrated — and I feel nothing. Not good, not bad — and not anything I can hang my hat on.

I can't say I've ever felt this way before.  

Without any feeling, I don't know where I am. And if I don't know where I am, I certainly don't know where I should be going.

Part of me wishes I had the drive I had before, but more of me is relieved to be at rest.  

This time of my life may be the first time in my life I can honestly say I feel calm.  The word "calm" does not come to mind when I think back on my life — certainly not my childhood or adolescence; not when I started jobs throughout my career; when I dated, had relationships, or got married; not whenever I've moved or tried something new; and certainly not when I gave birth and became a parent.  Calm was not part of the last decade, when I dealt with the illnesses and passing of my father, cousin, sister, mother, and six months ago, my sister-in-law.

Floaty.  Empty.  Hollow.  

But at night when my head hits the pillow, the lights are out, the computer and TV off, my brain suddenly leaps into overdrive, churning about all the conversations I haven't had, wish I'd had, shouldn't have had.  Over and over and over the words, the sentences, the feelings, the emotions play out inside the dark room, the silent night, my jumbled mind.  No longer distracted by the day, or the things I have to do — the shopping, meals, editing, emails, phone calls — my mind is just frantic.  Worrying, worrying, worrying about all I didn't do that day.  It's hard turning that racing, racing, racing brain off.  

Two of my dear friends — from very different parts of my life, living in very different places (neither near me), and very different from each other in every way — BOTH gave me similarly supportive (and surprising) feedback: right now a lot is going on for me emotionally; most of my adult life I have been driving on all cylinders  and often in serial crisis mode — I have a right to be in this place of nothingness; I need to be patient with myself and not expect to race forth into the next phase of my life.  For now, it's okay to just BE.
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Thank you Aaron and Barbara, and thanks to all of you who are supporting me directly through your friendship and indirectly through your readership.  I am grateful for all.