The feeling when your heart stops and the breath is knocked out from underneath your feet.
Kind of like when your vision gets cloudy and your hands search blindly for something; anything to take away the helplessness your heart seems to be smothered in.
Whether it’s a short enough drop that your arms can bear to catch you, or you’re plummeting thousands of feet; nothing moves faster than your mind during those short but seemingly endless moments.
Perhaps it’s karma, maybe a cruel twist of fate; perhaps I simply asked for too much.
It feels like someone is slapping me across the face repeatedly, shouting:
There’s the inspiration you wanted so desperately!
Be careful what you wish for…
I used to question everything and nothing all at once. However, never for a split second did I question God. Never did I debate his role in this thing we call life.
Right now, I am.
Right now, as I sit with not only shaking hands, but a troubled heart; I’m questioning everything. I’m questioning if the world is really as good, really as beautiful and divine as I’ve always claimed it to be. Right now with erratic breaths and innumerable thoughts darting around my head, I’ve–for the first time in my trivial life–questioned every wonderful thing that has graced my existence.
No need to voice your disgust or your outrage.
I can already hear the gasps; the sharp intake of breaths. I can already hear the murmurs of pity and the repugnant grumbling.
I can already hear you all–stunned to your bones–because how could anyone distrust this world that God created? He places on your shoulders nothing you can’t handle.
Well he thinks too highly of me.
But don’t worry; I hear you all. I hear your concern, whether it be sincere or not and I understand that your optimism is ever so tenacious. For that I’ll tell you; you’re lucky.
You’re lucky because you’re stronger than me. I’m not sure if you’re stronger in general, or if this feeling of hopelessness will flutter away as quickly as it came; although at this moment I can’t foresee being so blessed.
You’re lucky because either you’ve never heard words so repulsive, so terrifying and soul shattering to warrant such feelings as these; or you simply have resilience beyond my own.
Either way, you’re lucky. Right now, I’m wishing I were you.
Because right now, I’m weak. I’m lost and defeated. I’m a petrified child, clinging to her mother’s legs; a feeble attempt at shaking this empty feeling that’s lingering.
However, worse than all of those things; I’m selfish.
I am so selfish.
I’m selfish because my heart has made it onto my list of priorities; if it’s not at the top. I’m selfish because while I’m here eating microwavable noodles, writing down the thoughts that have filled my mind these past few minutes; silent tears softly dropping onto the pages of my notebook, there is someone else who’s feelings should be more important than anything else.
Yet I can’t seem to remove this storm cloud from over my heart. It’s as if I’m being swept up into a hurricane, totally incapable of snapping out of it; incapable of putting on a brave face, and saying words I’m sure she so desperately needs to hear.
How is it I’ve managed to trudge along through every inch of bulls**t that has previously made it’s way into my own life; but when it comes to another person who’s heart I care for more than my own, I turn into the exact thing I hate?
I wonder if underneath the person I’ve claimed to be, I’m actually an entirely different one. One who thinks about herself far more than she ever should.
A person who–instead of using gentle supportive words like–“don’t worry we’ll get through this” or “you’re so strong, you’ve got this”–shuts off her mind and hands the phone to nearest person who isn’t so invested in their own thoughts. Someone who can handle what’s to come with a grace I evidently do not posses.
Yes, that sounds like who I am lately.
Despite my angst and despite the turbulent thoughts scattered so messily around my brain; life goes on for me.
I’ll wake up tomorrow in good health; no weight on my shoulders so heavy I wrangle with the thought of whether or not waking up is even worthwhile.
So for the time being….I’m okay.
I have to be. For the simple fact that this is not about me. It’s not about my sorrow or my uneasiness. It’s not about my vigor–or lack thereof–and it’s most certainly not about my heart.
So, in a pitiful attempt to believe it myself–a laughable attempt at convincing myself it’s true–I’m okay.