Darkness, my home

It’s hard to describe this place inside of me.

Think of yourself as standing in a dark room, but only your side is dark.

Just beyond the edge of the darkness you stand in are other people. People smiling, laughing, living, falling in love, having children … just being human.

But there you are, standing in a place where you can’t be seen.

So you try to find a way to communicate. You yell something. You throw little pebbles you feel on the ground out so that someone, anyone will look into the darkness and maybe, just maybe see you.

However, you’ve forgotten a crucial detail. When you’re standing in the light looking out into a dark expanse, you only see it as a collective sheet of black. You’re not able to see the details within it. You don’t see what’s stuck in it or trying to find its way through it.

So even if they try, they can’t notice me.

I have run towards the light countless times, but the dark grows before me as I do, unwilling to let me go. I’ve held the hand of someone who I thought could lead me out. And I’ve been left behind for being too difficult to help.

A lifetime of trying to make the spot I’m describing comfortable for myself through the countless times I’ve been in it has taught me that no one searches for what they can’t see anymore, or what’s out of sight and out of mind.

You don’t see me.

But I still feel, think and touch.

I still have a heart that beats and breaks.

I still have a soul that searches for its missing, broken off half that’ll make it feel complete.

I still feel tears running down my face and the pain behind them — even if all of that is invisible to you from where you’re standing.

Yet, you’d never know.

No one ever gets close enough with a light to notice and understand the reality I live in and manage.

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