“Trying not to die is so taxing / You take a breath just to let it out again”
There’s like always this slight emptiness just off center in my chest. And I thought when I was younger I thought this emptiness is depression and depression is bad and you are broken. I thought of all the circumstances in my life that had contributed to this broken feeling and I thought oh but there’s a way out yet and I thought being in love would fill me up and I thought having a crush would make it better and when I was in graduate school I thought having a career will definitely make it all better and having a home and having things and knowing it’s all sorted will chase the emptiness away once and for all. Always chasing. But none of those things have made it any better. I think now the emptiness is a part of me, a familiar, a way I am. It just is. I have traveled to the center and I have touched it and now it is.
I said it once at a meeting, spoke out loud about my depression and a lady I’m friendly with passed me later in the day and had to mention it. Had to share how sad my depression made her and only, mainly, probably because I am a little self centered all I could think was, think of how sad it made me to be so depressed, but that turned into inner laughing and then I was smiling like a maniac at her as she expressed her deepest sympathies and maybe that’s when I could finally distinguish between empathy and sympathy.
“Waking up is an exercise in trust”
I don’t want to get dressed every morning. Every morning it’s the same, every night before I fall asleep it’s the same, what do I wear tomorrow, what clothes do I combine, where are the clothes and where will I put them on my body, how will I get them there and in what order, and it’s those thoughts that are exhausting, planning out the clothes and the food and the days.
All the thoughts and all the plans. And everyday it’s a trust that I can get through it, that I will achieve it, that it is worth it. I just want to show up to my life. I just want to wake up and be there, step into it, start it for real, rather than this careful organization. This step by repetitive step. I want to sleep, I want to cry, I want to masturbate, something to put the distance between myself and this emptiness. To un-mind it again. I want to feel warm and soft and full without any of this nonsense echoing in my mind. I want to be.
I think being a part of this world demands that you ask hard questions and find spaces for the mess. To live this mess, instead of messing to live. Eek, argh. Sometimes I think the breathing feels like work. The breathing is work, and I don’t think any amount of anything will make that abate.
A student told me today I was a one of a kind person and I’m not so sure that is a good thing. It’s been a lonely place. It’s been a bird’s eye view of existence sometimes.
I put the days away, but where do they all go? I do such a good job of putting the days away, but where does it all end up?
And what does it mean, to put