Fifty Seven degrees in the Sunny state of Oklahoma

Today is my first day of Fall, legitimately. It is dreary and gray, with a twist of drizzle. I feel uncomfortable, undefined. I feel out of place in my own clothes, in my own home. Again, I don't feel real, and I don't feel like me. Who this is, this girl with salmon nail polish. This girl that can't save money and can't love. I can not love, so should I feel like me? I pick, I click, I kick: nervously. I can not stop moving, so should I feel like me?

• I determine reality isn't what we make it to be, that maybe warmth only exists between waves?

I've created an escape, but from what (and to what) am I escaping? It seems nothing. I am escaping from myself, but I've escaped to myself; by myself.
It's days like these where I just want to eat tacos and bake bread. It's days like these where I wish I was strong enough to be on drugs. I wish that I was strong enough to use a crutch, but I can not pull myself up far enough to get it underneath my arm, nor far enough to even lift myself up an inch to the middle rung.

This time next week, the sun will be shining.
Will it be literal, or can I make it figurative?

Like these thunderstorms, I feel isolated. If I move, if I expand, what will become of me?
Can I grow taller than those crutches? Tower over the ghost of myself and see past this horizon?