FEBRUARy 2, 2020

I want to be okay. At least I think I do. At some level. At the present moment. But I don’t trust that emotion, any semblance of stability or this brain of mine. I don’t trust myself. Such is an incomprehensibly treacherous place in which to exist, yet one that is my unfathomable present reality. I feel loved, but even its all powerful force cannot negate oppressive pain. I feel supported, yet still desperately want out. I feel heard, though cannot discern any viable path away from agony, tumult and danger toward something resembling peace for a suffering mind, body or soul.

Refocus, I tell myself: not on unbearable constant bodily pain, misguided signals from a traumatized brain or all-consuming terrorizing darkness, rather upon the simple fact that I am still alive with a body capable of breath, functionality and movement, a brain that can think, process and transmit, a world of options, possibility and potential goodness. The fact that I cannot yet get there — still caught in the in between, the limbo, the tension, the grey — does not make me weak, insane, wrong, spineless or a failure, despite what my troubled mind may lead me to believe, unfortunately then reinforced by others’ pointed quips, remarks, framing, even mandates, regardless of intent.

With personal and professional help around me, I am working diligently, seriously and responsibly to heal — and neither judge, nor pressure, proselytize or project in the process. That is not my place, not productive, not what I need from myself or from anyone else. If I want to be okay, I must (a word I generally abhor) focus on creating, choosing and existing in the surroundings, circumstances, spaces, circles, situations and schools of thought which heighten my chances of success in ‘okayness’ — whatever that looks like, wherever it leads me, whomever it involves and however I possibly can. If I can. Which I still don’t know.