I want to be well

When I said I liked the dark, I think I meant the almost-dark.

The greyness of the world in the makings of a storm. My bedroom when the only remaining daylight comes faint and blue through my windows. City lights through blurry eyes.

I didn't actually know the dark-- not this kind of dark. I don't like it here. Here, in this place, I never see light anymore. Or if I do, it's a camera flash and then perhaps a minute or two of seeing spots.

There's ink in my eyes, in my room, licking at my ceiling. Even if you drained the ink, you'd never scrub the blackness from the carpet, from the walls. You ask me where I am in my faith; I say, "Just follow the black footprints."

I am always crying these days. I have yet to fall asleep with dry eyes this new year. I feel sick. I am sick. Monday night I lost myself. They thought I was laughing but I was gasping, choking. Eli brought me iced water in a tall glass. I said I can't play the drums this week because I can't breathe and I can't do what they want me to. I want to be well.

I watch movies that move me. I listen to songs that make me feel. I do things that once brought joy to me. And sure, I'll smile and laugh and feel okay for a moment, but then it's gone. I don't think this is healing, I think it's distraction. Fleeting. I feel helpless.