I am confident in my claim that a very small percentage of people could do what I am doing. The constant needing to move locations, the use of public spaces, which comes with many looks of questioning from said public.
I was proud of what I had overcome, along with staying positive about the every day. Fighting to remain open to experiences.
But a few days ago, that changed.
As if a dark cloud had descended on me. As if cold rain poured down, and the only choice I had was to stand and let it soak me to my core.
Is this the end of my rope? Is this what the breaking point feels like? I video called, phone called, messaged people I care about, my usual sustainable way to regain some sanity. But even that did not break up the cloud. I became worried, and even more depressed. It became a struggle to see if a new day might help, a distraction of work or writing, but it seemed my resources we wearing thin. Mixed reactions from my people just made it worse. I started to wonder, ‘can’t someone just once listen to me cry about how hard it is, give me some escalades, and tomorrow will be a new day?’
Unfortuently, I know no such moment will come. All reactions are the same ‘you have a short time left, you will be fine.’ ‘But this is when I need support the most!’, I want to cry out. Things could always be worse, but when you are in those moments of despair – feeling so alone, seeing that bigger picture is unimaginable.
I compare listening to the minimalism podcast as my church. So wise with their advice, so much I want to heed it. Still cloudy remains my mind.
They would say, to end on a pithy and wrap it with a bow, I’ll end on this, call it a cheat day, a sad day, a ‘I’ll be better tomorrow day’, but at acknowledging that day for someone is perhaps indeed what breaks those clouds away.
