I'm not okay

I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night lately. My brain is full of thoughts that want to spill from my consciousness at the most inconvenient times. Sometimes they’re crippling thoughts, making me feel small under the weight of my comforter. Other times I fall into a pattern of brooding, feeling swallowed by the things I can’t control. I’m not okay. And I measure my pain against the pain of others, wondering what right I have to feel this way.

Hoping to forget my misery, I close my eyes in the darkness. I try to focus on the back of my eyelids, releasing the grip on my obsessive thoughts. And usually, I drift back into sleep for a while longer, preferring to stay unconscious.

On some days, I wake, feeling like I never slept. I make my coffee. Then I stare at the wall, wondering if things will ever get easier. Simple tasks seem impossible. And the looming day seems like a gauntlet. How am I going to do this again? I ask myself, while swallowing the bitter coffee grinds that float in my cup.

Heels Over Head

Eventually, I pull the fabric of my trail runners over my feet, ignoring the heat emanating from my blisters. It’s not long before I’m out the door and my soles race across the pavement, propelling me away from the ache in my chest. I don’t know why it eases the pain, but the wind and the sun hold my hair while I climb the neighboring mountain. And there’s something comforting about being held by the elements.

The crunching of the dirt makes me feel like I’m not lost at sea anymore. Dust and sweat mix on my skin, creating a silty paste. My eyes maintain focus on the rocks that protrude from the ground. And my heavy breaths release my feelings into the wind. The farther I go, the lighter I become.

Luckily – or maybe unluckily – there’s always another hill. The climbs are endless. I could heave the weight of my heart over the ridge lines until my body drops. And I do. My calves burn while gravity tries to pull me into the ground. Defiant and determined to move forward, I climb. And in facing complete exhaustion, the thoughts begin to slow.

Still, I wonder, am I doing what I’m doing for the right reasons? Are there right reasons? Should I align my efforts with a greater cause, funneling my resources into the world? How do I focus my attention on shifting forward instead of backwards? And why do we follow the thoughts that haunt us?

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