Latest
THE WEIGHT OF ALMOST KNOWING
I don't move through life in a straight line. My paths wind into places most people avoid, and I've stopped pretending that's a flaw. The twilight suits me—half-lit, uncertain, honest in a way daylight isn't. There's a kind of room only that light makes possible: not empty, just unfinished, and I've learned not to rush to furnish it.
There are rooms in my mind I don't open often. Not because I'm fragile, but because I know what it costs to go in and truly look. Some days, I don't have that cost to spare. My sensitivity isn't gentle. It's like water—it erodes things, including me, including people I've loved. I write because the alternative is drowning quietly instead of on paper. I keep looking for meaning, knowing I'll lose it as soon as I find it. That's not peace. It's just what I've learned to live with. I keep people at a distance not out of coldness, but because closeness costs more than most can imagine, and I've run out of energy to spend on people who only speak in words.
So I stay where the light doesn't fully arrive, where things are allowed to be unfinished, unnamed. Not everything needs to be carried all the way through. Sometimes it's enough to loosen your grip, to let meaning drift without chasing it. And in that small surrender, something quieter—the same quiet the twilight always offered—finally has room to exist.
#SchizoaffectiveDisorder #Schizophrenia #MentalHealth #mentalillnes #Psychosis #SchizophreniaSpectrumPsychoticDisorders #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #BorderlinePersonalityDisorderBPD #BPD
