I am not afraid of the dark.
I know you are.
I see it in your eyes, watching me. I hear the caution in your voice, asking me how my day went.
You are afraid of this darkness.
I wish I could be like you. Stable, patient, focused. I wish I could trust my own mind.
I wish I could control it instead of relying on vices and getting lost in things that seduce.
I know I’m not broken. I know I can write my way out.
It hurts, though. Fuck it hurts. And it’s frustrating.
Like trying to read fine print without glasses, trying to hear the lyrics when the radio is just barely on.
That half asleep dream-like state where everything is so real, but you can’t speak. You can’t move.
The world is the same, but not at all. Instead, it’s dark.
Like a wave of deep grey, I know it’s powerful. It will pull you under.
Make no mistake, I will pull you under.
But for me, it’s all temporary.
The lights will come back on. Like flipping a switch, the circuits behind my eyes will spark and then, glow.
Like a butterfly in a chrysalis, I will wake up in the morning, maybe tomorrow, and be ready for what’s next.
The darkness swallows, then it fades. And the aftermath is almost always beautiful.
When everything is overwhelming, eventually you stop feeling. When you can feel again, even drinking in the air feels like ecstasy. When everything is blurry, eventually you stop trying to think. When you can see clearly again, every thought is like magic. I trust that when I take that last breath, I will come back up for another.
Without these underwater days, without the uncomfortable, there is no creativity. Without pain, there is no beauty.
I am not broken. I am human.
I know this to be true. So I am not afraid of the dark.
I am only thankful, for your fingers laced between mine, and your bravery to follow me into it.