It’s 1:30 AM and I should be sleeping.
Instead, I’m sitting in the dark, on my bed, contemplating in fear, having dialogues with a God I’m not sure is entirely listening to me.
I’m thinking, “why aren’t I better yet? Why are You doing this to me? I don’t understand”. Normal-human-fear-thoughts.
There are some days, like today, where I’m consumed by fear. My thoughts run wild, in circles. I’m immobilized. I wonder if I’ll ever be normal. If I’ll ever get the courage to be normal. If this entire nightmare will end. I’m scared it won’t. I’m scared it’ll get worse.
There are days, still, where my brain and head don’t work right. Where my eyes won’t focus clearly. Where every sound is a sharp scrape against my eardrums.
And I make lists to calm myself. Just wait til the end of the year. Just give it til the weekend. You’ll get better. You’re going to get better.
There are some days I just want to cry and the tears don’t come. Days where my trauma grips me. Days of isolation and loneliness. Days where I wish I killed myself.
There are days where the emotions struggle to leave my chest.
There are days when I get a lot of love from people. Messages of support that lift me to Heaven. Hugs and kisses. Jokes. Good stories. Good days where I get to feel the river breeze and walk in the sunshine.
But the limited mobility weighs heavy on me. How long, how long, how long? Why is my life on pause like this? Hasn’t it been enough? Why must it continue like this? I don’t understand.
So much is coming up for me and to heal past it, I need so much strength from my body and it’s not there.
I think everything of mine is broken. My body, my brain, my mental state, my spirit.
I get love though, from so many. And it helps and it heals. I could ask, or demand, or be consumed by someone, make love and forget about it all for a brief time, at least while being fucked, but even that’s broken in it’s own way. So I stay away, I keep my distance. And I try not to compare myself to a man from the past, my yesterdays, a shadow who does nothing but wear masks and manipulate for his own selfish gain. There is no competition. I am still piecing myself together (but he’ll never understand that, because bathing in ignorance is such a luxury).
I’m at this weird point in my life and I can’t figure it out. I have a weird inkling and I don’t want it to be true.
I’m desperate for answers, none of which are forthcoming and if they are, bloom as slowly as a corpse flower, awakening after a deep slumber. Creeping up on me as slow as slow can be.
Maybe I want more than hugs and kisses. Maybe I need that external, all-consuming presence that never leaves, a parent’s protection and comfort so long-forgotten. I know it’ll never come now. It’s too late. But it feels like I never had enough and I was lost for a long time on my own and now must carry myself, all the time, on my own, with pockets of support here and there. It feels so heavy and impossible. I don’t even know where to start.
How can I, with a broken heart and mind and body?
The only thing I can do is breathe. And wait. And fill my time, when I have the mental faculties and energy, with good things. Waiting is the worst.