Stuck on Pause

When I began this blog, I started it with the intention of documenting my multifaceted life-lessons. But what do I share when I let my days slip through my fingers like water? I don't know what phase this is, but it is strange to me, and I don't know what I'm learning. There is apathy and laziness, but I feel there is more to it. I've swapped back to my nocturnal sleeping routine. Sunrise is bedtime, and I wake at sunset. And even when I wake, I don't always get out of bed, and sometimes I don't even wake up until I've slept the entire day away. I wish I could pin it on illness or depression, but I am unsure. I feel as though I am in a mysterious fog of malaise. I rarely leave the house, rarely go to see my friends. It's as if I'm beginning to hibernate, but during the season I normally flourish. My body is unusually exhausted, my thoughts dull. Even the family I live with wonder why I've been so absent.
I wish I had answers. I wish I knew why I feel as though I am on pause while everything else is moving by as usual. I rarely listen to music, rarely dance, or sing, or play, or laugh. I seem only to manage eating, sleeping, and bathing. But why? I usually have an idea. Some sort of perspective about my present situation, but it is a blur. I feel heavy, burdened by some invisible presence that has closed my eyes to everything that made me feel alive before.
I am happy to have my partner, my cat, and my family. But does that make me a happy person? I remember days I would go to the park by myself and walk for hours, soaking in the sunlight or the rainfall, and feel connected with life. I remember when interacting with people, listening to a song, or seeing a tree would fill me with childlike wonder. I could wear a brightly colored skirt and twirl in public without worrying that I stuck out like a sore thumb. I remember a freedom that I have lost. I see these ways I lived and associated wholeheartedly with myself as something so far away from the cubbyhole I've created for myself.
The thought of driving somewhere, socializing, or going upstairs exhausts me, and I only count the hours that I will be able to sleep again. But when I sleep, it is troubled sleep, with dreams of danger and loss and I wake up in a state of terror I cannot shake for the remainder of my day. But why? Why must I feel so separate from the Abbi I once knew? I can only hope I am in between versions of me.

Hoping for a better tomorrow