Middling

The words I write online serve as a way to share some of the things that go on inside my head. While it may not be often, there have been enough moments that someone tells me that what I've written helped them.

I hope this is true.

The only thing I feel I have left to offer is a shared experience. The writing I once did, in fiction or in poetry and sometimes in essays, has gone. There are few things left to say, but sometimes experiences need to be shared. These missives I send are always in the hope that someone will again tell me that they don't feel so alone and weird because they see now others are experiencing these things, too. Most people just refuse to talk or write about it.

I hope that my drops in the vast ocean help strip away some of the stigma of my illness.

I'm faring very badly. I'll never be completely healed. I see that now. I am functional, but I am not exceptionally so. I do what I can, and it is okay. I'll never be great. I get it. All the fighting I used to do to prove everyone wrong. I was wrong. It just isn't in me to be great. I'll always be just okay. I have to learn to accept that.

Someday.

Not today.