12,388 Days Alive
Today is one of those drowning days.
I feel overwhelmed to the point of disconnection.
I’m here. But I feel hollow.
Logic says it’s a mild form of disassociation or just plain old burn out.
The more poetic side of me says far more.
I can’t finish a story, but I can say what it feels like. Like the bottom of a pool, sat staring up at the light rippling above. Chlorine burning my eyes, a held breath knocking to escape my lungs.
Like I could escape, if I knew which way was up.
Or perhaps that I’m at the end of a gossamer fine tether. Quicksilver shining and deceptively strong, like spider silk, but a thin thread nonetheless.
Right now I’m at the end of it, but slowly I can entangle my fingers, as I would yarn for the blanket I am working on. Slowly and gently I can pull myself closer to the anchor point, that infinitesimal speck like a black hole that is the rest of me.
Like all those space movies, it’s like staring into a great nothingness, screaming without being heard, without an echo chasing your own words back at you to reassure that you’re actually there.
I think I’ll sleep under my weighted blanket tonight. Some pressure to reassure that I’m still here.