Holding On to the Roots

I can feel myself shifting.

Doubt seeping in. Shame seeping in.

The loneliness is so sharp I can feel the depth of the clouds surrounding me. I’m holding onto the roots of the tree for dear life because I don’t want to start floating again.

There’s something terrifying about feeling yourself slip — not all at once, but gradually, like sand through tired fingers. I keep wondering what it must feel like to move through the world with an inner steadiness. To know who you are no matter the landscape around you. To wake up and recognize yourself in every mirror, every moment, every emotion.

I’m tired of feeling grief encompass my soul like it hasn’t eaten in years. I’m tired of the existential pain that sits heavy in my chest — pain for so many people, for so many systems that keep breaking what’s already broken. I’m just fucking tired.

Right now I’m exhausted from the inner fight — the endless push and pull between the self that’s trying to stay and the self that keeps trying to disappear.

I just try to tell myself it won’t last forever and eventually I’ll be okay again.

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After I wrote this, I ended up having a call with my wife, which helped ground me. Between the call, taking some medicine, and moving around, I feel like my feet are on the ground again.

Maybe it was just a panic attack 🤭