cloudy.

I don't have any answers.

As I sit perplexed and alone in my cold and dark living room, each member of my family is fast asleep. They are rested, they are warm, they are dreaming of lucky charms and bunnies.
Or so I hope.

But not me. I feel with my feelers too much feeling. I used to spend every night like this. Sitting, contemplating, unable to sift through my thoughts and organize them alphabetically, put them away and call it a day. They have become further and farther in between. I have gotten older, I have gotten my excess energy stripped away by tiny people, I have gotten more and more exhausted. Not tired, not sleepy, not doneskies, but exhausted. In every sense of the word. But tonight, not even the exhaustion can consume me. All that I feel is the sunken ship that is my heart. Heavy within my chest, weighing me down, suffocating every breath I attempt to take. There might even be a few anchors that have been thrown off the sides, giving me a little extra ache and a little extra depth. Go ahead and dig yourself out of this one, it teases.

I want to be known. I want to be heard. I want to be loved for every last molecule that makes up my being. I want to be needed. I want to know, if I were to be gone tomorrow, would the world be different, or would it go on all the same? Don't we all.

How do we coexist with one another, when we are needing and yearning for these things, yet we are all so radically different? We are wired uniquely, we are all taking different directions to the same place, hoping to see each other there. We are speaking words to someone who is hearing something different, even though it's the same language.

There are mountains we all have to climb, some of us run, some of us even run away, avoiding the mountains as if they aren't even there. Some of us are panting, arms hanging heavy as we fall by the wayside. We're in a corn maze, guessing which way we should be going, until we run into a wall and have to turn around and try again. I feel tired. I feel tired of attempting. Attempting and failing. Attempting and gaining. Attempting and then attempting again. And thus I find myself here again. I might as well be fifteen and have morrissey blaring in my ears right now.

Come tomorrow the sun will rise, I'll get up and try try again, and all will be well with the world. As for now, I just want to go jump on my husband, make him hold me and listen to me and fix me. But I won't, because that's just plain rude.

Someone said to me, we are addicted to depression and stress. We don't know how to function without it in this society. I want to prove him wrong and say, nope not me. The heart that pumps sorrow through it's veins is called doubt. Worry. Questions. It's all the same thing. If we didn't have so many questions, we'd all be speaking the same language, holding hands around some campfire somewhere.

Tonight, I have no answers. I feel unsure and lost.

Sorrow may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. and thank God for that.