Cheryl agreed with me yesterday.

This is worse than when Chuck died. It seems almost ludicrous to say that but this is actually, really a lot worse. I could pretend back then. I could act normal and look normal and make people believe I was normal. I was a pro. I had my trusty friends sex and alcohol and off-the-charts sociability to get me through the super rough spots.

I could pretend it all away. Until I couldn’t. But the simple truth of the matter is that by that then, after so many years of self deception, I had accidentally learned some things in spite of myself. And time passed. And it got better. Somehow it got better. It stopped feeling like I was going to die every minute of the day. And I started to be OK. More than OK. I was better. I was happy.

But this? I am failing. I try to pretend. But I inevitably fail. I just get too tired. My body just gives out. It won’t play along. I think I have it in check but then I run out of fake positive thinking and it all comes crashing down on me. I haven’t felt this hopeless in a very long time. I don’t even know what to do with this feeling. I tell myself, let yourself feel it. Don’t try to hide from it. It’s not going away. You have to go through it. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to go through this.

I’m exhausted from trying to figure it out. I’m exhausted from the effort. I’m exhausted from trying to act like it’s all OK. I’m exhausted from admitting that nothing is OK. I’m exhausted from never, ever feeling normal. I’m exhausted from the sheer effort of doing small things. I’m exhausted by the energy that goes into walking the shortest of distances that really don’t get me anywhere. I’m exhausted from sadness over all of the things I want to do but might not be able to do anymore. I’m exhausted from talking about it. I’m exhausted by writing about it. I’m  exhausted by all of it.

I feel so completely alone but for the first time in a very long time that feeling feels really scary. I can’t even relate to my own best friends. I can’t fit in with people I love. I can’t figure out where this is going. Or how to manage life while it goes there. I want to think this is temporary but what if it isn’t? I want to get used to it, accept it and just move on. But it just keeps changing. I can’t accept what I can’t even begin to understand.

This is so fucking hard. I can’t pretend this away. Or socialize this away. Or drink or do any of those other things I used to do to make bad things go away. It never goes away. And I can’t figure out what to do with my life if this is what my life is going to be like. I can’t get my head around that.

Maybe that’s where blind faith comes in?

Maybe you have to tell yourself that it’s going to be OK even when you know very well that it might not be. Maybe that’s the only way to keep going when something like this happens. If you try to face it, it laughs in your face. If you try to ignore it, it knocks you on your ass. If you try to accept it, it changes into something else and you’re not quite sure what you were accepting in the first place.

Maybe faith is necessary when you run out of good reasons to believe that everything will be OK. I’ve always been bad at optimism. I’m even worse at hope. Maybe I have to get better at both. I can’t imagine life just being like this. I can’t. So maybe I just lie to myself and pretend that it isn’t. Maybe eventually it will get better. Maybe time will work some magic just like it did the last time. Maybe acceptance is bad in this case. Maybe acceptance is giving up.

Maybe that’s what faith is. Believing in the unbelievable. Now, that just sounds ludicrous too. I make fun of people who blindly believe things that are so openly ludicrous. I should probably stop doing that.