Face down on the bed, fingers gripping the edge tightly. Holding on for dear life. It's changing again. Whoosh. Sliding down away from familiar things, hoping there's a soft landing somewhere there in the dark. No choice but to jump. 11th hour. Time to go, time to leave the safe house.

What can I control? Very little. Accept the powerlessness. Identify other ways in which control can be gained. Baby steps. You can't do everything at once. 

Stop ingesting poison. Stop internalizing hate. Stop watching train wrecks. Stop counting bodies.

A reckoning, but not. Doesn't need to be. Minimize the drama. Laugh, as always. Oh, this life. Dumb and funny, funny and dumb. Cynicism is a lead apron that's grown strangely lightweight and comfortable. Okay then. Be that for now. It's a different path from hopelessness, where there is no grass. 

Here at least there's grass. Sure, it's dead, but it might grow back.

Fingerprints all over the one way mirror. What are you looking at? Are you smiling? Did you bring others to watch? You know I don't care, right? I'm the one over here with the Windex and rag. It's freeing, do you understand that? Nothing more liberating than saying, Hey, my shell is cracked. The meat might still be good, but I don't know. It could be rotten. How hungry are you?

Cling to the people that accept and support. Gather them around, tell them. I love you. And you. And you. All of you. I wouldn't be here if you it weren't for you.

I would not be here if it were not for you.

Don't go anywhere yet, okay? 

Not yet. Please.