Post-Floor Era: Why Am I Still Spiraling?

I got on meds and stopped laying on the floor. Now I just want a legacy — and the correct hair product I ordered.

I used to light a candle, smoke, lay on the floor, and just… stay there. Not meditating. Not crying. Just staring at the ceiling like a Sims character whose command didn’t go through. The room always smelled like sugary vanilla and jasmine, and I looked hot but felt dead inside.

Then I started meds, and now I don’t do it as much. Which is good, I think. But I don’t know what to do with myself now. Like, I graduated high school. Graduated university. Got over the ex I thought I’d never get over. Dating apps are exhaustingly boring filled with dry bios and worse intentions. I’m unemployed. My list rejection letters are piling up. My friends no longer live ten minutes away from me.

I keep waiting for the part where I feel like a real person again. Like an adult with thoughts and plans and a favorite mug for morning coffee. Maybe even an apartment with decent lighting where me and my dog can host parties from. But mostly, I just feel like I’m waiting. I’m not sure for what.

Sometimes I think healing broke me in a different way. At least when I was laying on the floor, I had a schedule. Smoke. Dissociate. Search for imperfections in the ceiling. Pretend I’m just an atom. Now it’s just me, still smoking, pretending I’m in a coming-of-age, self-worth romcom like How to Be Single (2016), while my fogged-up brain whispers, “So… who are you now?”