Solace Emptying
The piercing light awakening the body evokes a sense of solace. Rolling over to view the time, however, brings a sense of panic and leaves you in a perplexed state. Questions of whether sleep took place last night are ceased by reminders of present day demands. The body fights to be pulled, stretched, and called to action, putting one foot in front of the other. As the body blindly moves along a memorized path, the pelvis gently bumps into the sink to signal arrival. Wiping yesterday’s face from existence reveals today’s reflection. The figure peering back in the mirror appears disjointed and preoccupied.
So now what? You ask.
There have been constant discussions of glasses half-empty, half-full, or even in transition. There have been dialogues that led to existential crises and questions of why such glasses and their contents exist at all.
But here you are. Here we are.
You have poured all of yourself into helping others and the glass is left empty. Leaning on others as support has not been your consolation, nor is it an option in reserve. You turn here and I have no more support to offer.
Emotions and thoughts begin to spiral into a dizzying, blinding, disorienting presentation. You’re somewhere between well-rested and exhausted. Cravings and appetite have ceased. The body, however, doesn’t visually reflect this state of flux.
You reach for descriptive words, but come up blank. The question, how are you today?, becomes a tempting place to insert soliloquies built up over months leading to this interrogation. Questions that don’t pertain to self remain incomprehensible. The emptiness reflects an absence of comfort and support.
It is not a feeling that can easily be escaped, but energy is not in abundance. Fleeing is not attempted. Sulking in the present builds feeling and the mind begins to worry. The heart begins to quiver and yearn for sensation—for warmth.
As you continue to ride the wave of self-doubt, inspiration and perseverance come into question. Looking in the mirror, you ask yourself: So what now?
- Matthew Bell
