The Middle

Only dreaming of the day I might get to talk about this as if it were a thing of the past, and yet in my very consuming present, I can’t for the life of me get out of it. That’s where we enter the middle:

I see your genuine intentions, when asking if I’m okay or doing any better—
I don’t want to snuff out the light of hope in your voice when you ask seemingly innocent and caring questions.
However, the wrestle is I’m unsure how to describe that I’ve sunken into a deeper brokenness,
wandering around inside my mind, looking for a way out. I don’t know how to escape, and so here I am:
unable to grab onto the hope that this endless night of wandering,
of feeling lost and deserted, will somehow end.
That maybe, just maybe, I might wake up in slightly less pain and chaos than the day before.

So, I respond with, “feeling human today,” and in all transparency,
that description is setting the bar higher than it ought to be.