How dark can darkness get?
Monday, July 19, 2010 at 7:56PM 
I thought I visited the darkest places already. I only turned a corner and peeked into it. Today I made a step, then two, then three, and then I couldn't find my way back, I was lost. It was pitch dark, so dark that I couldn't see my own hands, I forgot my purpose in life. Everything around me was pinching me, and laughing at me, and pushing me around - pushing me where I didn't want to go, deeper into the abyss.
Every remark felt like a strike against raw wound, it hurt. Every word sounded malicious and only dragged me deeper. I knew what the darkness was now, I tasted it - it reeked of fear. I was afraid to talk - lest someone might tell me what I'm saying is wrong. I was afraid to do anything - lest someone might ridicule me for doing it wrong. The fear paralyzed me, I was afraid to breathe, lest my breath might disturb someone - expecting them to scream at me bloody murder, for disturbing the quality of their air. Any step I took, I did wrong - nothing to anybody's satisfaction, wrong, wrong, wrong! "What's wrong?" someone would ask, I'd say "Why do you need to know?" Enemy, it's an enemy speaking, they are all enemies around me, all they want is to prey, to hurt, to do what they want, to make me do what they want, to make me please them. But what about me? What about what I want? Doesn't anybody care at all? "Can I help?" someone would say, and I'd say "What do you know about help? Did I ask for any help? Do I look helpless? Why are you offering help when I didn't ask for any???" It would feel to me forced, this help. Pushing me around again, deeper and deeper. Colder, darker.
Someone would look at me, smiling. I'd think - they're laughing at me, they don't think squat of me, they make fun of everything that is dear to me. I turn away. I look away and see someone else. They would make a step forward, and I would shrink - they want to touch me, to hurt me, to punish me for what I did wrong. Because everything I did is wrong, bad, stupid, not worth any praise, waste of time, utter disappointment. No good can come out of me, and for that I will be punished. I look inside, and I wonder how much darker can it get. It thickens more. Someone attempts to ask how I am, I decide to open up. Maybe this someone will understand, maybe this time I won't be wrong and will be accepted. I am wrong, of course, again. The first thing I hear in reply is - you shouldn't take it so seriously. Life is roses, what's your problem? Why are you obsessing over nothing? I balk, I did it wrong again. I go mum. Going mum doesn't help. That someone gets upset - what about talking to me? You are disregarding me now as an enemy? And I am wrong again, yet again - why did I speak up? Why should I? I think these thoughts and swallow my pain, and let them drag me deeper still. Until there is no way out, until I am so lost, that only my hands can bring me out. My story, told, to someone, who hopefully will not ridicule, who will get what I mean.
Ever been this deep in darkness? How dark can darkness get? Think you've seen it all? Think again. I thought suicide thoughts got me dark enough. They didn't - it was an easy way out. This darkness is worse. I am fully conscious of what is going on, I no longer think of taking my life, I no longer have the blindness to end it in light of worthlessness - I have seen that it can be different, I've infected myself with happiness, and I can't simply let go. I want to live. And so I raise my hand and write. One word, then another. Step by step, I make it up, I shake others off, I cringe at their pinches, but I don't stop. I won't stop, they are not real. My little black letters is all I got, I climb them, one by one, guided by touch, as there is still no light. I'm blind, but I know there is an out. I write, and I cry. And each little little letter is a promise - into a better world, into a new life. Into a strength to be myself, to not feel hurt, to smile and be loved, to be appreciated - all little things I do - to be noticed by someone, to be helpful, to be of use, to not be wrong. Never. To be OK. All I want is to be OK. To feel one day that I'm OK. Sounds so simple, why is it so hard to get??? I scream - into the darkness. It doesn't answer. It's indifferent. It doesn't care.
I need someone to tell me, like to a baby, taking first steps - it's ok, you're ok. If you fall, I will catch you. You're not doing anything wrong - you are learning to walk. You're doing great. Just like that. One more step, one more. Here, walk into my arms. I'll give you a hug.
To be held, as I am, without judgement - is it so much to ask? How hard can that be? I don't need any words, any things, any perks - all I need is to be held, as I am, accepted. Then the darkness will go. It will recede into mere fog, and melt away. Then I will make it out. I don't have anyone holding me like that, so I hold myself with my own arms. I cradle my body, and I make another step up, then another. And I'm better. It's still grey around, but not pitch dark. I sit down, and I breathe. It's not all lost. I can make it out. I will. I promise myself, and I keep going. Keep going. All I can do is stubbornly keep going, until it's over. One day, it will be over.
Photo by Jaci Berkopec.
Written to the song "I know you are, but what am I?" by Mogwai.
Reader Comments (2)
I like the imagery of words written becoming handholds that allow you to ascend this emotional wall.
There are plenty of people who want to support you, to encourage you, to help with that foundation that enables and inspires creative thought.
We're just not as obvious until you climb the wall some more.
Tom,
thank you - I sometimes lose faith in being able to climb this wall, and sometimes I forget that I don't have to do it alone, that I can rely on others. I have to learn this new skill. So thanks for pointing it out.