The Things That Are Hard To Write

   Some things are hard to write. Some things, no matter how talented of a writer you may be, simply cannot be written, or rather will never be written properly. We experience life first-hand yet, some things are hard to recall. We know what we want to say, but when we go to say it, we cannot find the words. It’s not writer’s block, it’s different because some things you feel with such depth of your soul they can only be felt, not written or told. Some things are hard to write. This is one of them.

   I wake up with the same knot in my stomach that I have when I go to sleep. It does not shock me, the only thing that shocks me these days is when the knot disappears. I can’t move. An invisible weight pushes me into my mattress. It urges me to stay in bed. It whispers to me, telling me that the world will be fine without me today. It speaks softly, as if it has the power to comfort me. It knows that the thought of the day does nothing more than make me sick. I have to remember to breathe. I have to remind myself I am alive. I have to remember that it is good that I am here. I get up. 

   The thing people don’t understand is that it isn’t one thing or the other. People with anxiety and depression are not always victims of certain circumstances, sometimes they are merely victims of this world. It’s not one thing, it’s everything, and nothing all at the same time. I  have lived a good life. I have more than enough reasons to be happy, but still I continuously find myself sad. How frustrating it is to have nothing to blame it on. How sickening it is to be flooded with guilt because many people out there have it worse. How unbelievably devastating it is to know the sadness will always be a part of me. How easy it is to give up, to lose hope, to let it consume me. 

   The truth is, I cannot make it stop. I have tried, but I have not yet succeeded. Yet, another truth is that I don’t need it to. There are days when I am smothered in darkness, but there are also days when I am gleaming with light. I think of their faces. The faces of the ones who keep me going. I am only twenty-two years old but I know of love and I know of loss. I know of the ones I can count on, because I have been let down by the ones who were so quick to give me up. We all will be left at some point in our lives. Hurt is inevitable. Everyone knows hurt, and it cannot be compared because every hurt is unique and different and terribly real to whomever is feeling it. Still, it is that hurt which shapes us, which molds us into who were are. I know the hurt will continue, but I know I will continue too, and I know I will be better for it.

   Pain can be something beautiful. It is powerful, and moving. Pain inspires us, it helps us to grow. Sometimes we know where it comes from, we can trace it back to its origin, but other times, it is simply just there. It’s times like these when we need to remember the beauty of pain. We need to focus on how the pain we feel can be transformed into something wonderful. Those of us who can feel this pain are those who can help. Too often, we shut down. We push the pain down inside of us, the way that weight pushes us into the mattress every morning. I know I am not the only one to feel the weight. I have seen it in other people’s eyes, I have heard it in their voices, and I have felt it when they move. 

   I carry this weight around with me because I think I have to. It is the weight of the past. It is the friends I’ve lost, the loves I need to let go of, the family that is no longer here. It is the races I should have won and the tests I should have passed. It is the things I never said and the things I thought would last. It is never being first, it is living in second place. It is the ones I let down, and the apologies I never had the chance to say. It is the yesterdays and the days before. 

   It took me some time, but I know now. The past is heavy and still we carry it around because without it, who are we? We feel that if we let go of the memories, we will forget. That’s the thing though, we can never forget. It is a part of us, we don’t need the extra baggage to remind ourselves of who we were, instead, we need to focus on who we are. 

   Some things are hard to write about. My pain, my hurt, my sadness, it is hard for me to put into words, but I try. I try over and over because I know I am not alone. I know others hear me and they feel it to. I don’t know much, but I know a few things. I know even though things seem broken, it does not mean they are not still beautiful. I know it is not one thing, but it is in fact a little bit of everything. And I know that yesterday was heavy, the past is heavy, simply put it down.