CW Warning: Severe depression.
(Forgive me. There has been some wine.)
I said to someone before a truly lovely breakfast some months ago: I am going to write my way out of this.
And I believed it. I thought it was how I could help. Myself, you, all of us.
But I see now that I haven’t written myself OUT of anything. I have only written myself in deeper and deeper. I remember these feelings. I remember the sharpness that presses against my chest when I breathe the wrong way and I always breathe the wrong way. I do not know how to do anything else.
I’m so sorry, but I’m not ready to stop. I am a pelagic heartache shark and if I stop now, I sink to the bottom, I think.
(Oh, shit, I started crying again. I’m sorry. It’s just a thing that’s been happening.)
(For ten years. Longer now? I want it to be your fault, but I logically know it isn’t. I still hate myself for remembering your favorite doughnut. Cinnamon sugar. Fuck.)
(I remember all your favorite doughnuts.)
(I remember everything. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop talking about everything. I feel haunted. I’m sorry for being like this. I let you down, I know it.)
(I should have tried harder.)
(Forgive me the parentheses. I just feel safe here, you know?)
I don’t know what this is anymore, which is perhaps the perfectest mirror up to nature. I thought once I would start writing here and I would craft all these thoughtful, insightful nerd-essays and maybe someone would NOTICE ME. Like, maybe this could be my ticket out of here?
Out of here? Where am I trying to go?
I picture a sunshine-y spot where it doesn’t feel like there is an anvil sitting on my chest. I picture an abundance of happy turtles and golden retrievers, wandering by for happy pats. I picture never worrying about where to go next or how to get there. I picture you on the dock, toes skimming the water.
But maybe it’s that I feel I don’t deserve that sunshine or that dock until I sort all this out, you know? So I return here, over and over again, to confess, to beg forgiveness. I cannot just be enough as I am, right? I need you to absolve me. (I am quite needy.) I have to talk about every awful thing I’ve ever done, every impure thing I’ve ever thought, every hatred I have ever borne in my heart.
I long to feel something like light.
Because I have been Google-ing the scary shit again and I’m really sorry, I do not mean to worry you. I do not mean to be a burden. But there are days when I cannot imagine overcoming the mistakes I feel I’ve made, the hurts I know I’ve caused… Days when I want to sink to the bottom. My eyes ache and my stomach hurts and I am tired of my brain that tells me what a failure I am.
But I promise not to go anywhere. Here’s what happens next: I have a show tonight. I will read my words and feel my feelings and I hope you are somewhere watching. I will try again tomorrow, try again at running, try again at feeding myself, try again at feeling something like hope.
And I’ll keep writing. Forgive me, but it’s probably going to stay weird for a minute. That’s just where I’m at. But eventually I will write us stories and plays, I hope, and I will use my words to help us out of this pit. I’m not done tunneling right now, but I have not lost sight of the light at my back. I will turn to it again one day. In the meantime, I will sit in this cave I have made, sometimes quietly sipping my coffee and enjoying the nearness, and sometimes sitting stock still to keep the monsters at bay.
I just have to keep the monsters at bay.