Wrong turn

I'm on my knees and I am writhing in frustration. "I just don't feel it."
"Of course you feel it. If you didn't you would be dead."
He's right, but right now apathy is my excuse and I'm sticking to it. I don't feel it, but I do feel frustrated. And stupid. We run it two more times. I'm close, but I'm just forcing it too hard.
"You can do this. I would have never given you this part if I didn't believe in you."
We stop. He dismisses me with a simple that's enough for today. Great, he's frustrated now too. I grab my bag and as I am walking out the tears finally gather their courage and I have become Selma moments to late.
That was a year ago. Today its much the same.

I'm on my feet and they're carrying me through the blacked out street. I'm buzzed and thankful because its the only way I can feel it. It. It. What is it? Fuck if I know. It is everything I want to avoid, neglect to mention, fail to confront. The omnipresent factor in everything. And so I walk. I walk and walk at 11:46 at night because I'm trying to escape it.
I make my way to the park, which I hate because it's a dog park and I love because there are never any dogs. I'm sitting there in the dark trying to convince myself that the current color schemes are not overly contrasted or too blue hued but it's pointless because I'm reasoning with the blind. Blind because it is dark, in fear, and not wearing glasses. Frustration, familiar frustration, because I know how this should look. The wind is speaking through the trees that are telling me to just go home and I would love to if someone could kindly point the way. They spit water and leaves in my face and I get up because I am not wanted.
It was dark and I was running and I ran too far and suddenly I'm under the only working street lamp in the world and standing there I realize for the first time how strange it really feels to not be moving. And even though home was three blocks ago, I just can't move.
What is it about? Feeling, going, and not being dead.