Your Regrets Will Break You.
My lungs wake me with a gasp in the morning at least twice a year, and even before coronavirus, that was an unpleasant sensation. I was never told that no matter how much sleep feels like death, I am not dying. Is that why I am so surprised to wake up every morning intact?
Waking up, at times, feels like coming back from the dead. It’s painful, uncomfortable, the lights are too harsh, and half the time I can’t breathe. Hands are wrapped around my lungs squeezing. I’ll breathe deep for the first time, confused, distraught, unsure if life is a burden I wish to bear.
Nine years ago, I wrote if waking up felt this way, why should I put myself through the pain of waking? Though I talk and write of death often, it’s no longer a desire of mine. I want to live, and as the saying goes, that’s half the battle. Sometimes, however, my lungs get overzealous and don’t want to wait till morning to hear me breathe deep. When they get too impatient, they’ll send a message to my sleeping brain that I’m drowning right this instant. Could I do something about that please?
This jars me awake at 4:32 with a scream on my lips silenced by mere habit. I sense I shouldn’t wake my friends from their sleep just because my brain is playing tricks on me. Millions of people go to sleep every night with the idea that life is a routine, and they’ll just wake up tomorrow and make themselves another cup of coffee.
In the murkiness of early mornings, I see the true nature of that lie. Are people always under the impression that life is much less fragile than it is?
I need a pen in my hand and a blank sheet of paper to write and doodle. I need to create beauty dipped in sadness. Although it makes my skin cry and whine and itch, I know I need the bustle of people on days like these. Being out in a bustle of folks reminds me that this earth is worth sticking around for, that people are worth saving, that my admittedly little faith in humanity is worth having.
People might flicker on my screens in rapid succession, but it’s not the same as being anonymous in a crowd of people and feeling my heart almost burst from wanting the best for everyone there. Used to write friends letters and postcards until one-by-one…
