[From the Diaries]
The way this year started, I should’ve known not to hope for anything more.
It started with this feeling: a tight knot in my chest, nerves pulling at each other, my body showing all the signs of discomfort. A never-ending anticipation of things going from wrong to worse. A constant cycle of terrible and utterly disheartening surprises.
That was the start of this year.
It’s September now. My heart is in a bigger mess than it used to be. The pain is the same, but I’m sabotaging myself more. Maybe I just got tired of being good.
When I felt this way at the end of last year, that’s when life nearly collapsed. I had someone with me who would love and comfort me. But for reasons I will never understand, none of that seemed comforting.
I’m a fully grown adult who has managed every crisis I’ve ever come across on my own, and believe me, there have been quite a few. But this time, for some reason, it felt heavier. Like I could no longer pick myself up off the floor. This time it felt like me against the world.
And in all my adult years, I did something I had never done before. I called my little brother for help. I asked him to come because I wasn’t feeling well. I hoped that if I talked to him, I would feel a little better.
I think it helped. But it didn’t take away the sorrow.
This year was always meant to be shitty. It’s my fault for believing it would be different.
I will tell you this though: being knocked down when you’ve been nothing but good hurts your soul. But when you start to feel like maybe you did something to deserve it, it attacks your mind instead of your soul.
Both are personal hells.
And I don’t know which one I would choose if I had the option. Probably the one that rids me of any guilt, because these days guilt has become my poison.
She Was Sea 