In the morning, when I wake up,
And feel the wind blowing in through the window,
The sun streaming in, the birds calling out:
every creature welcoming the new day,
I turn over and shut my eyes, shut the world.
I want to embrace this gift of a new day,
But something heavy in my mind settles in,
And I have conflicting thoughts.
I want to get up, go for a run.
My body feels tired.
I want to take a shower, make breakfast for Mother.
She cooks better anyway.
I want to start the day with positivity.
What good will it do when all my days are the same.
I should take control of my life.
I should just roll with what happens.
Only dead fish go with the flow, and I am not dead.
Aren’t I dead already?
I am alive. I am living.
I am numb, and I don’t have the drive to live.
The first step is stepping outside of the comfort bubble.
Shut up, shut up, shut up. It never works.
Just one step. One step and my journey will begin.
The more optimistic I am, the more failure hurts.
On some days, depression wins.
I stay in bed, shut everything out,
push everyone away, lay in bed
as if I were dead.
On fewer days, I take that step.
I get up. I push myself to run.
I experience the flush of having
oxygen running in my body,
I feel thirsty, I feel my muscles aching
as if I were alive.
Sometimes, it is that small step that matters.
It changes everything, disregards life’s incongruence.
And after, even the taste of failure
is the mark of successful existence.