Of Solitude

Solitude is the perfect irony. From the rigorous everyday routine, your solitude would be to draw yourself a hot bath or just be solitary. Then comes the paradox. Of being forced to solitude. Which is not solitude at all. A state when things are so peaceful you want to bang your precious head against a wall, just to make things slightly different. Consumed in this arduously facile state, I ramble into the depths of my brain and find homonymous occlusions preventing me from reaching a state from within the state of solitude. To put it in laymen's terms, i'm simply fucked. Does anyone know how to help me through this predicament? It's been so long since I felt normal, and the past 6 months have already passed since then and I'm ashamed to admit that I don't even know what normal is anymore.