I’m a mess. I was a goddamned mess yesterday. But I thought, “Several hours, I’ll be fine” as Emotion relented. But she hadn’t surrendered, just moved to another locale for her next ambush. &so, I’m still a fucking mess today.

My health isn’t a singular incident from which I can begin to recover. There’s no “moving on” when I’ve been shoved to the ground and I’m still being kicked in the gut with steel-toed boots. Life, you got some shitty-ass sportsmanship. Seems Mama didn’t raise you right.

When Life takes a break, Heartbreak emerges from deep within. She’s always there, always, invisibly, wordlessly, waiting to assert her territory. Her embrace is warm, sweetly encouraging as I cope with defiant instabilities that recently turned on me. This loss of freedom, this insecurity, this fear of life.

There is sympathy in the extended hands, but no empathy. But for now, selfishly, maybe that’s how I want it, maybe I don’t want consolation. Maybe I need to thoroughly fathom Despondency before he’ll release me. Always worsens before it gets better, right? &when better comes, then, I’ll try to stand; I’ll reach out, now that I know how.

Until then, accept my façade and I plead, I beg of you, do not dig. Past the facade is turmoil, churning, an intensely private introspection, yearning for peace. Through this attempt at comprehension, I choose to be alone.