3 o'clock

There’s a quote that’s often attributed to F. Scott Fitzgerald, whom I admire for continually producing such profound literature in the midst of self-destructing.

“In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.”

It’s like I’m on the edge of daybreak all the time. It’s that stillness that is like another person, lurking, when you awake in the middle of the night. And you lay there, in bed, waiting for it to finish you off, too terrifed to move.

And it’s hard to express this sort of thing. How do you do it without sounding melodramatic? Without trivializing things? Without being the one who cries "Wolf?" So I sit and write it all out. I’ve neglected my journal for so long I’m almost embarrassed to admit not being able to find it. But instead of process, I’d rather just sit and be in this place.

Not quite dawn all the time.

Of course, there’s always the noted difference between “happiness” and “joy.” And I wonder when it was that I lost both. And for how long I’ll continue to analyze my steps and watch myself move through the day with not much grace.

Day after day.