Meaning - A Creative Nonfiction Piece

I've been writing a lot lately, focusing on my fiction pieces, as well as poetry for my upcoming poetry book Dauntless. This isn't a poem, it's more of what I would consider a creative nonfiction piece, but I wanted to share it with you regardless. Maybe you won't be able to relate to the words below, but perhaps you will. And if you do, I hope that these words spark the revelation that you're not alone in your struggles, no matter how empty and hollow everything seems. 

This is not just a snapshot of my personal journey, but of other's as well. This piece is an accumulation of stories, of struggles, and of healing hearts. I hope that in some small way, these words can be relatable, open, honest, and perhaps even healing. 

Meaning

I woke up at 3 AM again. Sometimes I don’t think my heart ever slows in my sleep. It beats so fast that I wonder if something is wrong with me. But that’s not a new concern to torment my mind. Nowadays, the question is reversed. What isn’t wrong with me? The blankets are heavy, but I can’t get warm, and the air’s chill can’t be shaken. I wish I didn’t always wake up this late, well, this early. Not when I know I have work in a few short hours. Why can’t I just get some rest?

Inhale, exhale. The words are so deeply embedded in my mind, they might as well be branded there. Just breathe, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to trick myself into sleep.

I was never taught how to battle anxiety. I wasn’t ever trained in the warfare of the mind, not when it is sick. Maybe just a mental cold, but still, quite uncomfortable. I don’t like the feeling of the tremor in my bones. It’s settled there permanently nowadays, it seems.

The lamplight is still filtering through the curtains, unwilling to grant total darkness for my tired eyes. Even though I’m laying still, my heart still feels so heavy. And for what? The day wasn’t terrible, nothing horrendous occurred. I didn’t have my very existence questioned by a stroke of fate, and yet, why do I still struggle to find that answer? The floor creaks, but I know it’s from the other apartment. Still, I rise to check the door, and look down the dark hall with minor trepidation. As always, nothing awaits in the dark…just my thoughts. And believe me, they don’t ever grow quiet. If anything, they’ve been getting louder, harder to drown out.

I remember when I was the person who was firm of faith, unbreakable of spirit; the one who helped everyone else. Now…what am I but a broken person trying to desperately rediscover her own pieces? No amount of glue can make the shreds adhere to the form they once were, and even as I piece them together with scarred, bloodstained hands, I know they won’t ever be the same. For good or ill, only time can tell.

Are my fears legitimate? Are my concerns validated? Or do people simply misunderstand why I get so upset to the point that my hands shake? Why I get so weighed down I sometimes cry myself to sleep at night? Certain things make me feel unsafe, trapped, stuck in obedient misery. After all, I have to be understanding, willing to make sacrifices, right? The world expects compliance, and yet my very heartbeat wrestles with defiance. Why do I have to put up with things that make me feel like I’m in a cage? I’ve made sacrifices for many, but would anyone ever make a sacrifice for me? Look, I’m not selfish. I’m not even angry. I’m just a hurting soul on a journey of discovery. There are a few who fight for me, who would die for me. They make life worth it when I’m lost and afraid and hold my head up, so I don’t drown in this sick parade. But most people, they’re selfish, and will drain and drain until you’re empty, then discard you.

Do they even know what it’s like to feel so alone? Stuck on a slippery slope trying not to fall? When I hit the floor will they come running? Or will I always feel so abandoned, left in darkness, stranded? A kind word is a rarity. In my mind, everything can be so disparaging. I breathe and I wonder if I’ll ever find connection. Or am I destined to always be so helpless? God, I don’t want to be worthless, please, show me I have a purpose. My heart beats for a reason, but when will I know what that is?

They tell me I’m not crazy, but what is sanity other then different points of view?

(Image courtesy of Google Images, not my own.)