You never appreciate what you have until it is taken away from you.
Up, eat, stare into the void, eat, stare blankly, eat, stare some more, let water hit me in the hopes of feeling something, wait for the void to reply, bed. No outside world. No treats, no praise. Only work.
Communication, physical touch, a sense of purpose, gone. Every last positive thing in my life stripped in an instant, leaving only a carcass of demands in its wake. They wash over me, dragging me out further and further into an ocean of uncertainty. Why must bad things happen to me, things that aren’t even my fault. Why must we suffer at the hands of others? Those others felt so far away, laughing at our expense, safe in their happy little bubbles. I wasn’t sure where those bubbles were- it was more of an abstract concept, something that seems omnipresent- but I was sure that they existed. Rich people don’t experience the world the way we do, and I was angry for it. It felt as though I was falling, falling down, like a stone through water: conscious of what was happening but unable to stop it, my senses muffled by the crushing depth above me. I shut my eyes, then opened them and drowned. I was powerless to the tide, the life jacket I called routine thrust away from me. I couldn’t swim, so why even try to float?
How to swim in a sea that seems to want me to drown? How much longer must we suffer, gripped by the fear of the unknown?
The sun may have been out, but the raincloud over my head stopped me from seeing it. It seemed determined to obstruct my vision, only letting me see the worst. No matter how hard I tried to tune the world out, it seeped through the cracks. Every last interaction I had seemed to revolve around the truth I was trying so desperately to escape. There were only two options. Be left alone with my thoughts, or surrounded by the unwanted intrusion of others? I wanted neither.
Then, it all stopped. In its wake, nothing. I felt nothing. Things happened, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care. People are dying? People die all the time, why is this such a big deal? Who cares anymore. Anger had long since faded away, replaced with a numb indifference I could only describe as apathy. My best wasn’t good enough, so why even try?
But I couldn’t do that. I was so weary of failure that I almost felt inclined to embrace the radical concept of realising that I might succeed every now and then. As the blanket gave way for an inch of movement, I took that inch and I ran with it. I came to a very important conclusion: all I can do is my best, and all I can do is try. Progress, no matter how slow, is still progress, after all. I could talk, try to reckon. The forces that had once seemed intent on pushing me down were suddenly humans willing to give me some time, a chance to prove that I was worthy of their time.
All I can do is my best.
Thank you for your consideration,