There is this thing that I carry…

Aftermath.. Poetry. Understanding.

I wrote this recently…

There is this thing that I carry

There is this thing that I carry.
It used to be bigger.
At first, it was so big that it blocked out the sun, and I had to live in its shadow.
But I chipped away at it.

I chipped away at it with whatever I could find.
With fingernails and teeth at first. Painful but effective.
Then, with SSRIs and professional interventions.
Then, with friendship and human connection.
Now with paintbrush and pen.

I kept chipping away at it.
Now it fits in a wheelbarrow. I can fit it in my small car and bring it on holiday with me.

I continue to chip away at it. One day it will fit in my pocket.
I am chipping away at it right now.

One day it will fit in my pocket. Some days it might feel heavy, but it will fit in my pocket and I will bear it with effort.

Sometimes I worry that I will chip away too much. That it will become a grain of sand that I lose at the beach.

And, I don’t want to lose it. Because it is my thing that I carry.

But for now, I chip away at it.