I get too focused on discerning whether or not the person speaking to me, or the person I can overhear, or the person who wrote on the bathroom wall could feel the light.
I know it matters. And that each moment is separate, possibly affecting the ones before and after, possibly not.
I know these moments can be spliced. That I can be hearing light words through a light being and suddenly, with the tiniest smudge of grey, the ones can be bent into zeros and vice versa.
This terrifies me still some days. Some mornings. Some afternoons. Some nights.
Can I trust that the light I see is the light that’s real, can I trust the way it feels in the moment, or is it possible that I am shrouded in grey with blind eyes because I’m too focused on the details, not able to stand tall enough to see the summit?
I mean, there are places where light is more possible than others. But holy shit, I can’t rely on that as a given. Nothing is a given.
So, even in the places where light is more likely, where light has been felt and tested and accepted, I cannot relax.
And when I ask for big light, easy to understand signs that help me, if it comes in too quickly or too big or too anything, I feel nervous.
Is it really real? Or did I call in what I wanted to see. Can I believe that light is not an illusion when I know some light can be mimicked?
All questions, I fight the answers because I cannot get enough air into my lungs. Because I have seen things that would make others want to live under their beds for decades.
I want to believe. I do. There’s a big part of me that does. But this physical aspect of me needs to be met where she is.
Until then, it’s all a maze. And I don’t want to live there. I don’t think I could be happy there.