Choosing light
I come home and lock the door behind me. And I’ve known for two hours that it was coming. Just as promised, the pain begins. This endless agony that drags me down. Not knowing where I am. Wanting to disappear. I’m sitting in the hallway, and there are no lights on in the apartment.
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At first, I keep my eyes closed while I cry. Eventually, I open them and see that everything is dark. Light is coming in only from outside. There is just enough to make out things. And I sit there in the darkness, asking myself “Why even turn on the light? Isn’t this enough?”. I sit there, thinking about just leaving the light off. About being content with the darkness.
Suddenly, the pain is bringing me to my knees and I’m sitting on the floor. Because what the fuck is this? I don’t know what is happening to me. And it is scaring me so much. For someone who has always wanted control, having none is the worst thing that can happen. I feel so empty. Not even alive. As if my life were passing by me. Every day I wake up and I’m not recharged, not replenished.
I have this fantasy of giving it all up. Of not renewing my gym membership. The fantasy of just not showing up for work anymore. I don’t know how I’m supposed to endure this existential pain, day after day — probably not. I’m lying on the floor now. And if I could sink any lower, I would. If I could melt into the floor or disappear into it, I would. My soul is hurting so much, experiencing all this pain. I’m literally on the floor right now. I have no words to describe this pain. It’s a 10/10. I can’t think of anything else in the moment.
Crazy how comfortable the floor can be. “There is still humor left in you.” I tell myself. You can turn lying on the fucking floor into something new that you discovered. I’ve always hated feeling sorry for myself, but I think that has changed. And then I decide that it’s not time yet. I reach for the light switch. And I turn on the light.
