I guess let me start off by saying that I have nothing of real value to say here. I’m writing solely to purge my brain, and the odds that any of that is interesting to a single other soul in this world is… negligible to say the least.
The problem is that I’ve been tired. Not the crushing, overwhelming fatigue that happens in the first trimester, but still tired nevertheless.
And I’ve been overwhelmed. See, I’ve been having these dreams. Almost every night. The dreams are slightly different every night, but the theme is usually the same. Someone is angry with me. I don’t know what they are angry with me for, and I’m not really sure that’s relevant. The dreams are basically just about someone else (a different someone I know every night) thinking I’m a bad person for something I did.
And the dreams go round and round like that, just a big cesspool of judgment.
So then I wake up after having spent who knows how many cognitive hours in this pool of judgment, and I just feel wretched. I can’t get out of bed. I can’t summon joy. I can’t even summon the drive to want a cup of coffee.
And sometimes that mood breaks, and sometimes it doesn’t break so easily. And some days I’m still wading in those feelings twelve hours later.
And so I don’t really know how to stop those dreams. And I have a really hard time purging the feelings associated with them.
But I can write things out.
For me, writing isn’t really something I do for fun, although I do enjoy it. Writing isn’t something I do for others, although nothing gives anything more meaning than when our struggles can help another.
Me, I write solely because it’s the only way I know how to get by in this world. It’s the only way I know of to take the billions of words and thoughts and emotions that swirl around in my twisted brain every day and make any sense out of them. It’s a way to free those thoughts and emotions. Before I write them out, they are tethered to me. I can’t break free. But once they are out and on paper, then I can choose to either remain with them or let them float away.
I write because it’s the only way I know how to survive in a world that sometimes feels scary and intimidating and that even at its best and most joyful can sometimes feel utterly overwhelming.
And so even though I’m tired and overwhelmed and have nothing of really any value to say, I’m going to have to continue writing.