I feel weight on me today. Pressure on my shoulders, pressing down, and my back still hurts from the concert, so it's hard to stand up straight. I feel leftovers from difficult discussions and none of the relief that comes from "working things out;" only the anticipation that everything is too much a load for me to bear.
I am afraid to see what I am capable of withstanding. I'm tired of deciding for myself what my limits are.
Psychology seems to me to be the futile, desperate effort to map and pattern the behavior of humanity to decide what is good and bad for the emotional and mental well-being of a person. However, I feel like it always comes down to the same thing. I have to decide. Will I be happy like this? Will I feel like this tomorrow?
As I explore the purpose of this journal, I feel like maybe deciding what is good for me literally in writing would be helpful. Now, if only I knew what those things were.
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