Where am I?

The person who lives in my body takes a pill every night which is supposed to make her happy. Not happy. Functional. Able to live the life she is expected to lead. And she does. She functions. She leads the life she's expected to be.

Every other week she drives 15 minutes to her therapist's office and sits there for an hour. She tries not to look at the clock. She nods along. She flounders and stumbles when her therapist asks her about "goals" or "fun" but she knows how to speak the language of self care and authenticity and pays every bit of lip service to it.

She puts dinner on the table every night. She showers. She wears clean clothes. Which she washed. She gets her kids to all their activities.

And in the back of her head she hears a voice telling her that somehow this isn't enough, this isn't right.

The voice. I think that's me.

I used to be in here too. It was so long ago I don't even remember.

I'm supposed to see friends, but I don't have any friends who have time to see me. It's probably my fault. I haven't done the best job maintaining relationships.

I'm supposed to do things I enjoy, but I don't even remember what those things are. Or if I do, like writing, I find reasons not to do them because what if I fail, and what if the only thing I remember that makes me me lets me down?

There was a time when functioning was the finish line. But here I am now, functioning, going through all the motions, fulfilling all my responsibilities, meeting everyone else's needs.

But where am I?