have y’all seen that nasa pic of the earth with the sun behind it on the night time side it really really fucked me up my own soul became solid and like………….. weeped!
who wouldn’t see this and then look deeply into their own emotional playing field to see what improvements could be made purely inspired by the vulnerable earth. this is the face of all literal gods
the last few months have been some of the best of my entire life. I’ve been happy in this unbreakable way that seems impossible. i keep waking up waiting for the other shoe to drop.
it has taken me a bit to notice the shoe has dropped, i just know how to catch it.
the last months – euphoric, impossible, so full of love and light that it feels like a poem and not my real life – were also full of anger, sorrow, anxiety that kept me up into the night. and the loss of my hands. the loss of my writing.
it’s just that the things that used to stop me before don’t stop me anymore. it’s that i know if i am patient, the panic attack peters out. it’s that i know how to hold onto life even when life is a wisp of a thing.
everyone – myself included – always says it gets better. how fragile that sounds when you want to die. i remember reading it and thinking when! i remember thinking: but what is “it”? yes, my life in general got better. but for that to happen? i had to get better first. and you get better. only in mental illness do we promise our patients a vague future where perfection reigns. with my hands failing me, i am not promised something vague. instead, i am given day-by-day instructions for managing pain. i am given the promise it will be managed, but only by my ministrations.
hope is not vague. hope is real and it is another four-letter word. it is work. you get better. start with the small things. small enough they feel silly. the simple day-to-day struggles. fix that one poster that hangs to the side. get a night light. listen to a new song every day. find a schedule. no, scratch that. force yourself to have a schedule. write it down. if that schedule is simply “10:00 AM – get out of bed to stretch”, it is a schedule.
hope is not vague. i know so many people who tell me: okay. i don’t want to be alive but i don’t want to die but i also don’t not want to die. the snake that eats itself. i cannot tell you “don’t worry, one day you won’t feel like that!” because even i, telling you that, sometimes find myself idly thinking about stepping into traffic. more and more often i’m surprised by it – and i was once so used to this constant undercurrent. but death is not hope. death is the end of hope. the long-sleep that you actually yearn for – that ending of trouble, of tired, of every day the same day… it cannot come from death.
it can only come from hope. i know because i am not tired anymore. every day is still, sometimes, the same day. but i am awake in a way i have never been awake. i am present in the moment when the moment comes and my heart actually real-life feels love. it took me 12 years of constant work to get here. 12 years of hope.
i can’t tell you what hope you should have, only that you have it. even if you don’t feel it, some part of you has it. not a vague you, you, because you wrote me this, and if you took the time to tell someone, some part of you wanted to admit to it. to be told: i come from where you are. don’t die. not yet. not today. we have too many things to make together. we have too many things to do. our bucket lists (still unwritten for me – i never expected to live long enough to finish one) need to be full. we have to put our feet into every ocean, we have to make cute sunscreen tan line tattoos, to write our book, to sell our first band cd, to make art that makes someone cry, to help people. to be alive for our sister’s wedding, to be happy when our dog comes home, to save the cat when he got his claw caught again. without us – you, you, you, and me – think of how many people will go unhelped, how many animals unsaved, how many gardens unwatered. how many books unread, walks untaken, setting suns unseen.
my friend once said to me “every morning i wake up sad, i make myself waffles, because that day could be the best day of my life, and if it is, it needs to start with waffles. and every time i am sad in the afternoon, i just restart the 24 hours and make myself waffles. no matter what time of day it is, the next day can start then. and sometimes i have waffles for all 3 meals. but then it is the next day. and i can start again.”
tomorrow might be the best day of your life. hope is in you.
Arthur, have you ever been in love?”
It was midnight. The blinds didn’t shut properly. Whenever a car drove past, its headlights would momentarily slip across our faces as we laid on the floor.
Arthur slipped his arm across his eyes and grunted as he stretched his legs. “What’s the time?”
“Late,” I replied, “Have you ever been in love?”
My mouth still tasted of coke and popcorn. The television was playing the DVD menu intro again and again and again, but I didn’t really mind. It gave me an excuse to get up and slowly turn off the screen while peeking a glance at Arthur.
He didn’t move. His arm rested perfectly across his face so that I couldn’t read his emotions when his muffled reply came, “Don’t know.”
“How can’t you know?”
“Well, have you?”
I turned off the screen and kicked an empty can across the floor. Droplets of soda sprayed through the air. I wiped the floor clean with my foot. “Yeah, I think. I kind of have.”
“Yeah? What’s it like?”
I shrugged. “Painful, mostly.”
“Ah, unrequited,” Arthur sighed and smiled. He moved his arm down and propped himself up on his elbows. “How romantic. Tell me more.”
“Well, it’s like a feeling, yeah?”
“Yes, love is a feeling,” he mocked.
I grimaced. “Right, and it’s like, I don’t know. Should I act on it? Should I let it be? What if I hurt someone?”
“How can love hurt someone?” he asked and cocked his head.
A car drove past. The light slipped across his face. His green eyes, curious, his tense lips, hesitant. His fingers curled up to meet his palms. His oversized shirt dipped to his collarbones.
“It could change things. Change can be painful,” I said, my tongue dry. I fiddled with the strap in my shorts and looked down. “Y’know, sometimes we change and we realise that it’s not all we ever wanted.”
“For you?”
“For you,” I replied and bit my inner cheek.
I knew he was watching me. Then I heard him get up. The floor creaked. His hand touched mine, just barely, but it made me shudder. I didn’t dare to look him in the eyes.
“You’ve never been good with words,” he said, and I nodded. “No, I’ve never been in love.”
I felt my heart sink. “Oh.”
“That’s assuming it’s past me. I have never been in love. I always am.”
I looked up. Another car drove past, and his lips were no longer tense, but relaxed as he smiled. I closed my fingers around his, and he pulled back and stretched, casually, as he started walking back towards the window. “But, you know, if you have only ever been in love-”
“Am,” I stuttered, “I am in love.”
He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. “Then come show me.
you open up your palm and inside is ugly so you close them again, quickly, before you see the things you let go of.
today you’re thinking about people you lost touch with. some of them you’re not sad to see go. it’s her birthday today. maybe you should leave a note. remember that one time you tortured me for sport?
but then some of them swell up inside you because you know it’s your fault. what, are you supposed to saunter back into their lives after so many months? just tip your hat and say i know you’re happy but what if i came around again
you let them go because it’s better if you don’t call them up. if you don’t make things awkward. if you don’t act like you know who they are or what they’ve done. it’s better you give them space, right. better you sail off on your own.
oh, her engagement looks gorgeous. you send her a note. it’s a very forced conversation. nothing flows. okay. okay.
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