Sometimes this all gets too heavy for me to carry. My legs drag Until I swear they're going to give. But usually, they don't.
Usually, I keep going until can find a safe place to rest. But my rest is starting to feel less restful. And deep down, I know what that means.
I try not to look out the window for too long.
I try not to imagine myself jumping out of it.
But like I said, it's all getting so heavy.
Human beings are funny, aren't they? We go through the same shit over and over again. And each time we swear we won't get through it. Each time we say this one's different. Even when we're still here to talk about it. But I get it.
Hell, I get it.
There's a sort of safety from being in shambles. So we find refuge in our own darkness. We find joy within the pain. Comfort within the discomfort. Kind of like when you get a sprained ankle, and suddenly the world is quick to give you attention. And you realize just how many unmet needs you actually have. And you find it crazy that you've gone this long without having them met.
And now I'm feeling like a baby, crawling on my hands and knees. Crying at every small bump in the road. Being overstimulated by every little thing. And I hate living, surviving like this. And if I'm being really honest, I hate living in general most days.
Most days, I want to tuck my head into my shirt and stop breathing. Most days, there's an unbearable amount of stuff going on in my world. More than I can handle. But somehow I'm still handling it all.
And my loneliness is eating me alive within all of this. And there are too many burdens hiding under my skin to count. So I take deeper breaths, inhale and write out page length poems about God.
Then I buy a coffee and try to give myself the comfort that I think all people deserve.
I'm so tired of being tired.
And I'm sick of feeling this way. But everyone says that you should hold on when it gets bad. That you shouldn't try to run from this feeling. They say that you should just wait for better days. They say that giving up is quitting. But part of me thinks that's not true. Part of me thinks it's the kindest gesture one can do for themselves.
Giving yourself the gift of relief. Of letting go of the way you grew. The gift of learning how to let go in a world that has never once been kind to you.