From the Diary

Bright light.
Not just sun—
but something inside me lit up.
Radiant.
Energy pulsed through every breath like blessing.
"You did it."
Freedom, finally.

It felt like flying,
like waking up after years of dreaming someone else's dream.
It was so easy,
so full of yes.
I was living.
I was me.

...

But then,
a tremor.
A flicker.

Just a hint of stress—
no big deal.
A tightness behind the eyes.
A weight in the chest I refused to name.

Tension.
Hold out.
You’re fine.
Don’t look.

...

Then—
distortion.
Deformation.
Like my insides were bending in ways bones shouldn’t move.

Disfigurement of spirit.
A leaking of light.
Everything turned
various greys
then black.

It’s back.

The cloud.
Not a storm.
Not dramatic.
Just familiar.

Repetition.
Over
and over
and over.
A loop, soft like lullaby,
sharp like wire.

Good or bad?
Who can tell.
It lulls. It numbs.
It wraps around me like a song I didn’t ask for.

Break free?
Or stay here,
where it’s quiet.
Where no one expects anything from me.

It’s right… there.
I go without it
and I miss it.
It goes
and I chase it.

Obedience dressed as coping.
Resetting disguised as healing.

“Why me?”
But I already know.

Tears
without warning.
Anger
at nothing.
Sadness
with no name.

“This is it,”
I say again.
But it never is.

There’s always more.

How many resets will it take
before I stop calling it progress?

“As many as you need.”
The voice is soft,
but it doesn’t comfort me anymore.

A feeling
presses
waits
looms.

What happened to the freedom?
What happened to living?
I used to shine—
now I manage.
Now I measure.
Now I cope.

I try to control
what laughs in the face of control.
Fake.
Not that bad—
until it is.

Where’s the line?
What’s the measurement?
How far is too far
before I admit it’s broken again?

I don’t want to know.
So I don’t look.
Just ignore it.
Don’t turn your head.

Avoidance.
Dependence.
Shame.

Does it harm anyone but me?
No?
Then maybe it’s fine.

Still—
I dream.
I ache
to have nothing to hide.
Nothing to manage.
Nothing to explain or bury beneath a smile.
No secrets behind the “I’m good.”

Just me.
As I am.
Free.

But I wake up—
and the sky is already heavy.
That cloud…
it knows my name.