I feel heavy. That kind of heavy where you wake up as if you’ve been in a coma, not sure if what you remember from the day previous is a nightmare or reality. Before I open my eyes, I hope it’s the former, but I know the truth. Life sometimes includes those situations more terrifying than our nightmares. With nightmares, you wake up to escape. In life, you sleep to escape (if you can shake yourself of the unbearable anxiety and panic and fear long enough in order to do so, that is).
I feel heavy. That kind of heavy no amount of sleep could fix. My entire body aches; not from physical pain, but from something else. Sleep deprivation is real, but when your body is this heavy, sleep won’t provide much, aside from a temporary escape.
I feel heavy. Eating is necessary, but food has no taste and doesn’t cure the lethargy. It’s just a mandatory, at times burdensome survival step to take each day.
I feel heavy. The outside world continues as my world is crashing. I crave the option of staying in my bubble, bundling up and using the convenient timing of the Midwest polar vortex as an excuse for my hibernation. But the world expects us to continue to be participants, no matter how broken we are.
I feel heavy. I have so many words to spill, but I have to keep them wrapped up tight. It’s not my place to spill my words because it’s not only my journey.
I feel heavy. It’s only part-way through a blog post in which I realize the irony of my own selfishness, venting with “poor me” when in reality, I’m the one who’s fine, okay, privileged. How does one cope with the guilt of self-care in times of crisis?
I feel heavy. So many times each day I reach for my phone with a witty message or random story I feel so entitled to share, thinking, “I need to tell…” and immediately stare down at my phone, remembering. The world has changed. My world has changed. My selfishness must change. My random daily thoughts can wait. I must stop focusing on “I.”
I feel heavy. Every “Do you need anything?” or “Let me know if you need to talk” means more than any cliched but truly sincere sentiment of gratitude could express. But I still don’t feel any lighter.
I feel heavy. I move in slow motion while moment to moment everything in my world changes too quickly, too drastically for me to keep up. An avalanche leaves me buried and I don’t know how to dig myself out while the snow continues to pile on. I’ll probably freeze here.
I feel heavy. Daily tasks become impossibilities, obstacles to overcome, tedious burdens I don’t wish to deal with. I want to stay in my bubble, without distractions I deem less important. How can I eat, sleep, live my life, at a time like this?
I feel heavy. It’s 11:15 pm and takes an entire day to write 500 words. There’s so much to say yet shock prevents me from untangling conflicted and complicated emotions.
I feel heavy. “You can’t predict the future” is the most uplifting and terrifying phrase ever crafted.
I feel heavy, but I can’t sleep tonight.