Good morning.
I woke up today to the normal half dozen messages from people in my life whom I love (thank you time zones), I’ve been much better about reaching out to my community and they’ve shown up in an unbelievable way. I got my 8 hours of sleep without nightmares, had a productive day yesterday, and could barely breath this morning when the realization hit me that I haven’t been hugged since I’ve arrived. The swelling loneliness in my chest was my heart breaking for the thousandth time this year, it was my soul realizing what my brain had been preparing for months. Every song I've clung to, every photo I've dissected the moments behind, every phone call, was me running from the fact that it's just me here. No amount of meditating in the sunset or healthy habits will change this. This is not a cry for help, this is me keeping my promise to myself to write about the hard too. Because we all have hard, we all feel empty some mornings. It's the human experience to crave love, to crave community, and when we are adrift from it our bodies know. I was talking to a friend recently about how those moments after a hard cry (like the one making it hard to see my screen right now) are as incredible as the smell of earth after a hard rain.
We strive for strength so singlemindedly and with such vigor. Walking around with fuck off stamped across our face so to tell the world don't try me. You want to hurt me, come wrap me in a hug and you will feel the defenses melt, the mask soften, the real come out, and my heart shatter. I never want to lose the part of myself that needs my people as desperately as my lungs need oxygen. (Though our respiratory system is driven by the buildup of CO2 not the starvation of oxygen in a typical adult, thanks Dwight for ruining my metaphors the second I think of them) I never want to be callused or hardened to my pains. So I will keep writing about them, and if I'm brave enough, sharing the moments that feel like I can't take another step forward. We all will keep going, the tears dry, the air comes easier, and the day goes on. But fucking hell is it a tidal wave of sorrow sometimes.
Love,
Fitz
