We see what we tell ourselves to see, but this too is untrue

I keep making up all of these stories, but they interfere with sight so much, and I'm so sick of crashing down, running into walls and falling.
Now I'm lost. And even as I see where maybe I should go, or where I could go, I'm still lost. I am in a black room, with no walls, and no ceiling. There is a ring of round lights, evenly spaced all around me, but I don't know which direction to turn.
Even this is sentimental and a little silly, my dear. I feel and I try to explain, but in doing so, whatever I mean is one degree removed from what it actually is. But still I feel like I should, like it's doing me and others no good by sealing it all up tight and turning it back within. We're not meant to be a tightly wound thread, we're supposed to tie strings to others and the world, I think. Yeah, there's a way to do that destructively as well, but my metaphor is falling apart again. They always do. I start to glimpse the truth and communicate it to others, and then something flashes on the edge of my vision and I lose perspective and start spinning again.
Mostly I'm just trying to teach myself, but I do a dismal job of that as well.
I don't mean to make everything into a story.