I Got Nothing.

I don’t have any new insights to share. No confidence to try to impart. No tips. No anxiety hacks or depression busters to offer. Normally I wouldn’t even write at a time like this. When I’ve got nothing.

If I could sob on your shoulder, I would. If there were distractions that still worked, I would be distracted. If I could walk my dog without sunglasses hiding my eyes, I would greet the people I passed. If I could hear over the earbuds pumping music in over my thoughts, I would listen.

But I have no listen left. No smiling greetings. I got nothing.

Behind me pain, before me terrors, and me now in the moment between the two, submerged. Aghast. Unable to look.

When is resilience not enough? What if all the running, the working, the planning, the sweating and clawing don’t end up in freedom? When is the way of Dufresne closed forever?

This is all wrong. I should have died or fallen out of the game decades ago. And yet I continued on. There had to be more. I would be more. I would succeed. I would overcome. And I did, until I could no longer. I can’t run anymore. I can’t plan. I can’t think. I can no longer bend with the wind lest I should snap in two.

This isn’t why you read me. This isn’t why I write. This should be when I struggle hardest. This is when I’d fight.

I walk my dog. I pet my cat. I tell the people I love that I do. That’s all I have. Cheerful encouraging words? Hopeful thoughts? Look elsewhere, I got nothing.

– JL ✌🏼🖤🖖🏼

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