I’m like a turtle sitting in its box, or at the least slowly making its way to a not so obvious destination, and then returning home in frustration.
I am slowed down not just from my general condition, but a chemical fix that is meant to keep me sedated and calm. Unfortunately this fix slows me down more than I’d wish. I try to push myself. Or maybe sometimes there’s an invisible slow-moving hand pushing me forward, with my feet and belly sliding on the ground. Continue reading