I Am World Weary
So much of my past and my heart and my story and my very self are this utterly bereft barren waste. So much of me is just so utterly empty. My heart and my body and my muscles are so filled with fear and anger and self loathing and guilt and old hatred, that there's hardly any room for anything else. There are places where roots have found their way into the soil of my soul and figured out how to grow. But sometimes it feels so much like cacti in the desert.
I'm tired. I'm tired in a way that goes deep. A weariness that permeates the deep places in me - the deep places that we all have. And it's not depression - I'm depressed, but in a way that's so much shallower than what I'm talking about. It's not a weariness in my heart - it's a weariness in my spirit. A weariness that a lot of people never feel in their entire lives, but that a lot of people do, at some point or another. When my defenses are at their weakest, and I look deep inside of myself, I see this sort of tired coldness - like nothing touches me, and yet it's all too much. Like open wounds and solid walls, both doing their own flavor of damage as they paradoxically permeate my being.
I don't feel it most of the time - none of us are really aware of our deepest, most overarching feelings, except rarely, like when we lay down at night, or when we wake from dreams. It's something that we usually only glimpse on the edge - and yet it's in us, at our cores. It's always there, coloring everything that we do and say and see. Coloring the sum total of the brief time that we're given to walk in this world.
This weariness isn't the only thing at my core. It's not the sum total of my spirit. There are other deep things of incredible power. Things that drive me. But they feel so small in the face of just how BIG the tiredness feels - like a cancer made of ice, that's spread through the heart of everything that I am - leaving much of me intact, and yet all of me sick.
I don't know if I've ever put this into words before, at least not this directly. But to the greatest extent that I know how to describe it, this is how I feel, underneath all of the frustrations and anger and fear and shame and dreams and hope. The questions, the stories, the truth and the lies, the wounds and the hate and the bits of love - underneath it all, this is how I feel.
I'm tired. I'm tired in a way that goes deep. A weariness that permeates the deep places in me - the deep places that we all have. And it's not depression - I'm depressed, but in a way that's so much shallower than what I'm talking about. It's not a weariness in my heart - it's a weariness in my spirit. A weariness that a lot of people never feel in their entire lives, but that a lot of people do, at some point or another. When my defenses are at their weakest, and I look deep inside of myself, I see this sort of tired coldness - like nothing touches me, and yet it's all too much. Like open wounds and solid walls, both doing their own flavor of damage as they paradoxically permeate my being.
I don't feel it most of the time - none of us are really aware of our deepest, most overarching feelings, except rarely, like when we lay down at night, or when we wake from dreams. It's something that we usually only glimpse on the edge - and yet it's in us, at our cores. It's always there, coloring everything that we do and say and see. Coloring the sum total of the brief time that we're given to walk in this world.
This weariness isn't the only thing at my core. It's not the sum total of my spirit. There are other deep things of incredible power. Things that drive me. But they feel so small in the face of just how BIG the tiredness feels - like a cancer made of ice, that's spread through the heart of everything that I am - leaving much of me intact, and yet all of me sick.
I don't know if I've ever put this into words before, at least not this directly. But to the greatest extent that I know how to describe it, this is how I feel, underneath all of the frustrations and anger and fear and shame and dreams and hope. The questions, the stories, the truth and the lies, the wounds and the hate and the bits of love - underneath it all, this is how I feel.
