Packin' it all up...

I've packed it all up and climbed back into my head.

I'm back in that place where no one knows what goes on in my head. This is in part because no one asks, and in part because I dont offer it up. I'm home, surrounded by family and friends who care, who ask, who poke and prod, and who draw me out into the world for brief periods of discussions, but all I can think about is how I want nothing more than to be locked away in my room and left to my own devices.

I'm incapable of giving much to anyone right now...even if a part of me wants to. It's a lonely but strangely indugent feeling, accompanied by a pang of sadness that I know all too well. I have so much stirring about, that the only instinct I have is to produce something...create something...to regergitate everything mulling around inside. It's not just a desire, but an intrinsic need. Like eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty, and sleeping when tired.

I feel like no one really knows me. Part of that tortures me, while I relish in it at the same time.

Crazy?