I’m busy. I’m always out and about meeting people. I smile, I chat, I am genuinely pleased to see and chat to most people. But I’m an introvert, so this is hard for me. I like my alone time. I like the quiet. I like hanging out with just me.

It’s been a busy week, lots of things going on, seeing lots of people, doing lots of things. I do like being busy. I’ve given myself the morning off today to sit in bed and catch up with my thoughts, rest a while and think about projects and personal things. Thinking time is really important to me.

Now I’m thinking. All I can hear is the ticking of a clock and some birds in the trees outside. I’ve been busy and now I’ve stopped, something has been niggling me for days but I’ve not been able to pinpoint what or why. Not until now. Not until I gave myself the space to do it.

I feel empty inside. I feel dead. Devoid of life. Just empty. Don’t get me wrong, when I think about my son I fill up again with love for him, but otherwise, I’m dead inside. Dead.

I know I get like this every so often. Play dead and the snake won’t bite you. I know it’s my way of distancing myself from hurtful or harmful feelings, emotions and situations. Things that will break me if I let them. If I can’t feel them, I can’t acknowledge them and they can’t hurt me. But they do.

They always do.

Even though I’m dead inside.