When there are no easy solutions.

I don't know how to process
the twists and turns of
these past four days.
I need you to believe me.
There is no poetic expression
to convey the confusion
of so much happening,
yet nothing changing.

I wasn't looking for a cure,
but I trusted the process
and hoped for relief.
And there was, temporarily.
Three full meals a day,
a routine I held myself
accountable for,
a staff who checked
on me and who I could
allow to see all sides of me.

I journaled;
I brainstormed;
I shared;
making a list of
short terms goals,
something manageable
to keep myself from isolating.

And then, I drove home,
tired but hopeful,
granting myself grace.

Yet with every curve,
the thoughts grew louder.
How could they come back
when home is safe?

I started to panic,
my breath quickening,
eager to lock myself inside.

I let hot water rush over me,
but it became too much.
So I curled up naked
in the bathtub, sobbing,
rocking back and forth,
the vulnerability too
much to bear, even alone.

Everything caught up
with me then.

Everything.

That I could ask for help
a thousand times,
do the work and try to believe
in some kind of future,
to not let it be a
self-fulfilling prophecy...

but I was right.
Despair always returns.

And no one's ever given a
satisfactory answer,
as to why it's worth it
to keep giving life all I have.

I wish someone could hold
the loneliness of being alive.