So… The dark cloud descends again. I wish that it would find a hole to crawl in and stay there. But it won’t. It’s just decided to come back again – taking away that sense of myself that is already so fragile anyway. I feel like I am losing a lot, and its simply losing yet another battle in a war that can never be truly won. I now have no job, I feel constant pain, I’m exhausted and ill… I’m wondering when the good stuff is going to turn up.
I’m trying to do new things instead. I’m not sure exactly how well they’re going – but I hope for success in the end. This is hopefully where my stubbornness is used for good instead of evil… I can’t help but feeling I’m deliberately being stripped of everything I thought I once had and wanted (and I admit I didn’t really want all of them – the job, the life, etc; it just wasn’t ‘me’) – but at the same time I had some stability, security and understanding of the world through them. Now they’re going or they’re gone, and I’m not left with much. Maybe it’s to make room for better stuff, or at least different stuff. Maybe they’ll be things that will be more truthful and fulfilling to the life I really want… Who knows. It’s just a shame the pain, or dark cloud, isn’t something that’s also being taken. I could live without them.
At this moment, it’s hard to see the wood for the trees, to see hope or care about anything. That’s what the dark cloud does. That’s what falling down the rabbit hole is. It’s a dark world that doesn’t make sense, and strips away everything you thought once did. It comes for you when you’re vulnerable - when you’re tired, low, alone, and floundering. It helps you drown, and there seems to be no way out – no way to stop it from happening.
I feel like I don’t know anything anymore – everything that was once comforting to me, in its familiarity at least, has been taken away. Even hope right now seems like a distant ideal; something that can’t be grasped or even imagined. I’d like to think my life of being a caterpillar was coming to its end; simply that the chrysalis is being prepared, to wait for the natural phenomenon to occur and metamorphoses to be complete. To do so, I leave things that a caterpillar needs behind for the cocoon stage, only to pick up what I truly need after, when I have grown to become the butterfly.
… A flight of fancy, maybe. A nice little image to cling to. It would be nice if it was true. Of course, I don’t know that it isn’t true. But nice things don’t tend to happen to me. I’ve struggled always; nothing has ever come easy… So you’d think I should be used to it by now. Except I’m not. I’m downright tired of it. It is tedious to have to struggle for everything – even the simplest things that people should be able to take for granted. Like breathing, or walking, or eating. And if I’m supposed to learn something from my trials and tribulations, then the point is lost on me. I try not to think too much about it, put my head down, gather my courage, and keep on going through the storms. If I do try and think about it, I start falling apart. I’m tired of doing that, too. I write to try and get it out of my head and out of my heart – so the morose feelings can be given to the ‘page’ instead of letting it live in me.
At the very least I would like the hope to come back. The dark cloud keeps chasing it away; I wish it wouldn’t.