For difficult mornings
I wake up in different places
But it’s 7am and I’m in my bed, the same as yesterday and the day before. Still I wake up everyday without recognizing the lamp standing beside me, the sound of the alarm imitating a ringing phone, or the open window framing the exterior.
This is your room, this are your hands, this is your body, this is the life you’ve been living for years, this constant, almost invisible pain is the same as always. Don’t look in the mirror, don’t get caught in poisonous thinking, keep moving, like the day a dog started chasing you and you fucking ran as fast as you could because you didn’t know that maybe if you turned around and offered a hand he would have stopped and appreciate it, because moving is not about physics, is about knowing.
Moving is running home, moving is staying silent, is talking and talking and talking and talking until you figure out you have to take a small step backwards, moving is falling hard, to the bottom, until you realize the only option from then on is to go up, moving is bleeding, is healing, is taking your own hand, is crashing against a thousand walls just to feel the energy within, is imagining you’re jumping off a cliff, is hiding for days, months, years just to go out for five minutes.
Moving is waking up every day to convince yourself this is who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with that.