Day & Night
Day is breakable. We say it breaks. It isn't here until it's broken.
When I was a child (a teenager, a young adult, the age I am now) I loved the night. The eyes of others, the eyes that watched my stiff carriage and eccentric gait, were closed. The ears that judged my apparently odd speech ("What kind of accent is that?") weren't listening. No bullies loomed, no adults, no friends I was afraid I'd lose. No questions demanded that I guess at a normal response.
I have depression. I have panic attacks. I have systemic sarcoidosis. We all have things. I've never been officially diagnosed, but my therapist believes I'm on the autism spectrum. We're all somewhere.
The first time I wanted to die, I was in the 3rd grade. Breezing through a ridiculously easy arithmetic worksheet, I suddenly had an intuition of the immense total of days I still had to live through. The weight of that much life, that much time I'd have to be me (which was hard work) was crushing. I laid down my pencil and left the assignment unfinished.
I've lived through a large number of those days.
Night is permeable. Everything sinks into night. Sometime. It doesn't have to be now.
Meanwhile, I'm broken, I'm here.
-- Carl Bettis
Image info: Unkown distress feels like happiness, copyright 2020 by by Carl Bettis, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.