Friday, August 18, 2017

Black River.

I'd like to say to you come follow
But I'm afraid my heart may hollow here
And though it seems the water is shallow
It's over my head, but still I swallow
A black river runs down my face
I guess now is not the time or place
A thousand years is but a day, they say
And maybe in a thousand more I will find my way 
                        - Sierra Hull, "Black River"

I always end up putting a positive spin on things. The songs I've written about my depression end up with a comforting chorus of joy finding me or God understanding our pain. When I try to reach out for help to people, I couch my desperation in statements of optimism. I poeticize the pain. I point out what I've learned from difficult periods and turn it into a teaching opportunity. So people ignore what I say or give a tight smile and say good for you, I'm glad you're out of danger.

Inside I feel like I am dying sometimes. And if I'm not dying, I wish I were.

I'm sick of this back and forth. I'm sick of being faked out, thinking I am out of danger, I have crossed the threshold and am in brighter territory, only to find that dull, familiar ache that can't be put into words has found me again.

I thought this summer would be good. Parts of it were. But I didn't know that until it was over. Now I'm home, where I longed to be, and I feel so numb and empty and raw, it's like I'm being emotionally crucified. I wish I could go back and relive this summer and cherish it, but at the same time, I know it was what it was, and I was completely justified for being overwhelmed by it, wanting it to be over.

I don't see how I can ever find purpose of fulfillment in life. I can't find meaningful relationships. Nobody I love, platonic or romantically, seems to feel strongly enough back to make the relationship keep on going. I know people say not to put relationships first, but I can only feel so fulfilled by careers and blog posts and other shit. I want to pour out my love and know it is appreciated. And maybe even receive a little love in return.

Which brings me to him. I know there are a million red flags and reasons I shouldn't love him, but I almost think I might. Or I could, if I got the chance. And oh, my God...God, how I miss him. Please, you have to know that, God. It's like I left part of myself elsewhere. Sometimes in those last weeks, I would see him across the room and feel like my heart was outside of my chest, right there with him.

I tried my best to walk the tightrope...Say little things to show I cared about him and admired him, brush my arm against his, say thank you - attempts to give a bit of an idea that I had feelings for him without going too far. Sometimes I wish I could go back and be more straightforward. I wish I could go back to that last night and look him in the eyes after we said good-bye or uncross my arms while we were at the graveyard - some signal that I felt more than I was letting on to. But then I think that if he was interested, he would have given more signs himself. And I remember all the reasons we probably wouldn't work. And all the reasons he probably isn't interested. But I can't shake that feeling that my heart is elsewhere and there is no other him in the world.

Nothing makes sense and everything feels like shit. I know I accomplished something great this summer. I know it is all part of a journey. I know these are growing pains. But sometimes I'm afraid all of life is growing pains. Because we never stop changing. And I don't know if I can bear that.

I'm not even going to try and say something positive.

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