Things falling all around me. Into or out of place.

Things are so strange.
So surreal.
I'm having a really fucking hard time connecting to myself and my experiences.
Did I really just have my second heart transplant? Really? Why do I feel so...the same?
I mean, of course I feel better. I can walk forever, seriously, without getting out of breath. But what I mean is, for the most part nothing has changed.
I don't understand how it can. I can't envision how it will. I feel so helpless.
I feel so...unlike myself in every way possible. The me I knew a couple of years ago. The me who was strong and tough and knew what she wanted and how to get it but wasn't totally devastated if she didn't get it, and could adapt to anything with vigor and enthusiasm, almost to a fault.
Now I just kind of...adapt. And then become silent.
Earlier this morning I got really upset at something and had a mini-breakdown where I just threw all my pillows one by one as hard as possible against a wall. I've got to say it was rather unsatisfying.
Fuck. Everything is just so underwhelming. I think. I'm so...not anything.
I'm just here, you know? I'm just here and getting older. That's all I'm doing.
I feel like a pile of wasted potential.
Not because I feel sorry for myself, but just because I feel like there are so many things that I'd like to do and see and experience, but I don't know where or how to start so I'm afraid, so so afraid that I just. Won't.
And that frightens me unbelievably so.
How do I figure out where to start?

When I think back on the past few years I realize that I am just a child in terms of my ability to exist in the world. I have never lived on my own, I've never been anywhere alone, I've never really stepped outside my comfort zone save that one crazy year of absolute debauchery and hostile bodily conflagration. I have no fucking clue how to exist.

My transplant hasn't helped any of this. The disconnect I feel in relation to my experiences is bordering on scary. I can't wrap my mind around it. I can't understand why I'm still alive. Isn't that the strangest feeling in the world?
I feel guilty because I think I might need someone to validate that for me before I can come to terms with that. Am I alive because I'm supposed to DO something, or is it just completely random chance that I'm here lazily typing on my goddamn computer at 1am? It's so fucked up how random and unpredictable human life is.

I guess. I don't know. I'm totally out of Vicodin and am feeling lots of pain in several general areas right now. Maybe I'm talking out of a sensory stupor.
What do you do.
Take it as it comes.
Honor myself and my feelings each day.
Or something like that.

Feelings are like assholes...

I know how I WANT to feel about everything.
About you.
About Him...

About HER.

But I can't move forward. I can get my heart cut out of my fucking chest and die a thousand deaths and bravely take on 7 surgeries, kidney failure, hip dysplasia, spinal arthritis, and 8 life-threatening blood infections all in a year. But I can't be true to myself. I can't take risks and I can't live the life I want to.

I'm a fucking coward.
I'm scared I won't ever not be a coward.
I'm afraid I'll wait until its too late and end up a lonely washed up shadow of myself sitting around feeling sorry because I didn't take advantage of the abundance of life I've been afforded.
I don't want to look back and wonder where the fuck my life has gone.
I don't want that.

I don't want to be a coward anymore.


Fuck.