“I’m not okay.”

Be careful waiting for clarity

Most clarity is seen after the waiting

Hindsight is often clarity’s conveyance

If I step off the platform to be swept away

What of me will be left behind

A sweet smelling notion of what could have been

(But never was)

(And never will be)

Because existence without bullshit can’t be an independent existence

Humans prove it again and again

And again

(And again)

So there is, really, never any good done by giving in

Only by continuing to try to contribute enough good to outweigh your own bullshit

Will you leave something worthy behind

I’m reading a book called

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah.

And as any good book does, it has my mind reshaping ideas, sharpening understanding, and paralleling situations in my own reality.

I’ve always understood that it was fear that led evil. I never thought too hard about why, though.

You have to have the bravery to keep right and wrong straight. Even when what’s right, could mean your end. As soon as you sway to shelter yourself, you’ve lost sight, and cowardice slips in the cracks of your mind, then your heart, then your soul.

You’ll find yourself choosing evil, because that it what has kept your lineage safe. Either aiding the evil by silence, or by joining, it’s all the same.

And as all the federal employees of  the USA who voted alongside nazis have started to see, you aren’t safe either way. Safety is an illusion.

So choose wisely.

Also, you should read this book. It’s pretty good. But be sure to unclench your jaw between chapters.

A quiet part of me knew that as she pressed her hands into the arm rests of the chair I was sitting in, leaning her face into the breath space of my face, that she was using my skin.

Every consonant she spoke struck onto my forehead and cheekbones. I squinted my eyes but did not move.

Her frustration for white women coated my body like paint.

Necklaces and bracelets and watches and make up

I used to look forward to decorating myself each day

Now it feels like a chore and barely even crosses my mind

Until

Until I see other people all put together nicely

They have taken care to present themselves to the world

I’m in a place in my brain where either

I am not worth the trouble

Or

The world is not worth the trouble

Of putting care into how I appear

Part of me wants to blame it on depression, but another part of me knows that I’ve just seen too much behind Oz’s curtain

And now the illusion is ruined

And you can see it in my naked face

And baggy clothes

And distended gut

Some days I feel inspired to be the best me I can be

Some days I feel inspired to die

I’m told this is normal.

Some days I can get out of bed and tackle the mountain of plans, obligations, and bullshit waiting for me

Some days I fantasize about being paraplegic so I have a valid excuse to explain how I feel

I don’t tell people that, in case it’s not normal.

Some days the creativity flows through my mind and hands like electricity

Some days my most creative achievement is wiping my ass

That might be normal.

Some days I feel like I could give 10 speeches on things I’m passionate about

Some days even speaking one word feels like an insurmountable task

Is that normal?

Some days, few days, my mind and body are in sync with coordination and grace

Some days, most days, I drop everything I touch and trip over nothing

The docs don’t seem to care if that’s normal.

Are we all struggling this hard?

I want to wake up

with land to tend to

with animals to feed

with breakfast to cook

without a hurry

I want to go to sleep

with tired muscles

with a calm mind

with the windows open

without an alarm

Suck it in

Squeeze it in

Burning butthole

No bathroom in site

Hold it

Hold it

Hold it

Burning butthole

Squirming feet

Wrinkled face

Aching stomach

Breathe but not too deep

This too shall pass

This too shall pass

Burning butthole

Regretting nourishment

Time stands still

Chaos inside my ass

Distraction is futile

Burning butthole

I wish it was more comforting to know I’m not the only one drowning in the ignorance of others.

But it’s not.