I can’t write this week. I’ve tried several times. Two or three paragraphs in, it falls apart and the message I meant to speak becomes a ball of words with no real significance. I’m too tangled up inside, I think, to be able to present something linear and coherent on the outside. I’m a mess. I’m in a dark and desperate space, and that darkness and desperation are coloring my words. I never want to speak darkness and desperation. I want always to speak hope and love and light.
And right now, I can’t.
If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. That statement runs through my head. But it isn’t niceties that concern me, since I often offend others with the ways I communicate. It is the absence of the hope and love and light that concerns me. I never want to offer the world my depression and my struggle and my suffering. I always want to offer the beauty and the good, even in the midst of pain or confusion or whatever the day might bring. And for the moment, I can’t.
I can’t find the positive in the negative that surrounds me. And I can’t be the positive in the negative that surrounds me. And I can’t even want the positive in some moments. I sometimes get so tired of the invalidation and the inability and the incapacitation present in my life that I want to lie down to sleep and not get up again—ever.
Yes, that sometimes means I am suicidal, but it doesn’t mean that today. It means that being in this much pain and suffering this much mental anguish and being marginalized in such a way is at times unbearable. I simply cannot imagine coping with it for one more day.
But tomorrows keep coming, so I keep coping. Even on the days I feel I can’t go on, I do.
Because I also can’t stop. Not unless I die. And a life of suffering still outweighs death, whether that is my choice or my survival instinct or the influence of some outside force, so I keep choosing to live on. The idea that I can’t stop overpowers the idea that I can’t go on. So I go on.
I can’t keep this up, but I can’t quit.
Where does that leave me?
Stuck in a place I hate, I suppose. At least for now. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow will be worse. I don’t know.
I never know.
So I can’t tell you.