That’s how it feels. Like some invisible scoreboard I never agreed to is flashing numbers above my head. Points being handed out without context. Wins being counted that don’t feel like wins. Losses that feel permanent.
Time does not heal. It tolerates. It tolerates the pain sitting quietly in the corner. It tolerates the memories looping in the background. It tolerates until it is time again. Then it dismantles everything you thought you had stabilized. The wall is head on once more. No warning. Just impact.
And right after the impact comes the performance. The positive reinforcement. The “you’re strong” speeches. The motivational quotes. The dance of the jester with a full face of makeup. Smile wide enough and maybe no one sees the cracks underneath.
I hate that I feel controlled by invisible strings. Like a puppet who knows he’s being moved but cannot see the hands. Faced with the reality that my life will never be the same. That version of me is gone. That timeline is gone. And I somehow have everything everyone says they want. The business. The drive. The discipline. The platform. The influence.
Yet I have nothing I want.
Life is funny like that. It hands you applause when you are craving peace. It hands you opportunity when you are craving presence. It hands you recognition when you are craving restoration.
Choked up most days. Walking around with little to no purpose yet pretending as if there is one. I show up. I paint. I post. I create. I speak life into others. I try my best each day to get back on track. Discipline has been my word. Structure has been my shield. But when it gets quiet, when the noise fades and it is just me and my thoughts, I am reminded that my feelings are valid. My placement is valid. My grief is valid.
How does one feel they have purpose when their purposes were taken away from them?
Interesting how we control none of this yet we are faced with the full weight of it. We are expected to carry it with grace. To not let it spill. To not let it stain the floor around us.
I fought the good fight. So I thought. I believed truth mattered. I believed integrity mattered. I believed standing firm meant something. But the system does not seem built for fighters who hold truth. It seems built for those who can perform pain the best. Those who can play the victim with a check attached. Those who understand how to package trauma into profit.
The human species is interesting. It will hurt its own. It will silence its own. It will sacrifice its own. With no remorse. With no regard to who it affects long term. I have watched it. I have felt it. And that might be one of the scariest realizations I have had thus far. Not that pain exists. But that indifference does.
I am forever altered while trying to remain myself. Every time I pass a mirror I see someone slightly unfamiliar. Someone who was once whole, vibrant, determined. Eyes sharp. Voice steady. Aura strong.
Now I see someone carrying five empty holes throughout his body that are gray. Not visible to the outside world. But I feel them. I feel the draft when I move. I feel the absence where fullness used to be.
It is ironic. I used to tell my littles to stop crying so much or they would not have any tears left when they got older. I look at myself now and laugh at that. It is clear I did not cry much as a child because these days it seems to be all I can do. The tears come without warning. In the car. In the shower. In the studio before the sun comes up.
There are moments that feel like psychosis. Like I am observing my own life from outside of it. I do not believe this is real. I do not believe any of this. I do not understand how I got here. I do not understand why I am still here. I do not understand what I did to not deserve the one thing I care most about.
Three for you, negative three for me.
There is a video that replays in my head daily. A cry I will never forget. A moment that split time in half. Before and after. I am disappointed in myself for not being where I feel I should have been. For not somehow preventing what feels unpreventable. Guilt is loud. It speaks confidently even when it is wrong.
But then I am reminded of the butterfly effect. One shift alters everything. One delayed step. One early exit. One random decision. We like to believe we can trace outcomes perfectly. That if we had just moved differently the entire map would have changed. Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes control is an illusion we cling to because the alternative feels unbearable.
I do believe in something. I believe everything happens for a reason. I believe pain has purpose even when I cannot see it. I believe I will be okay. I repeat that to myself often. I believe that.
I also believe I have lost parts of my mind. And I do not intend on getting the old version back. That version did not know this depth. That version did not carry this weight. Maybe what is breaking is not my mind but my old understanding of life.
All of this has me looking at humans differently. Not with hatred. But with caution. With a side eye. Everyone around me seems to be reacting to the shift in my aura. The confidence is not as loud. The voice is not as firm. The presence is not as heavy in a room. I can feel it.
I am running a business I worked tirelessly for. Early mornings. Late nights. Sacrifices no one saw. And now it feels like I am slowly driving it into the ground while watching from the driver seat. And some days it feels like I could not care less.
Or maybe it is not that I do not care. Maybe it is that I am tired of feeling like an asset. Tired of being valuable only when I am producing. When I am inspiring. When I am strong. What is the reason if who and what I do it for feel virtually nonexistent? What is the reason if the heart behind it is no longer present in the way it once was?
I have never been afraid of taking losses. I built myself off losses. I respect losses. They teach. They refine. They sharpen. But this one built walls so high I cannot even find a ladder tall enough to climb over. Every attempt feels small compared to the height of it.
Still, I am here.
Still, I wake up.
Still, I create.
Still, I love.
Sending my love your way on this 18th day. I hope you can feel it. I hope you can feel that even in confusion there is care. Even in grief there is gratitude. Even in doubt there is belief fighting to stay alive.
I hope one day too much time does not pass us by. I hope I still get to experience what I deserve. I hope I still get to walk fully in my purpose. Not the version that looks good on paper. But the version that feels aligned in my chest.
Because Sir Avery, my life was never EZ.
But I am still here.
And that has to count for something.
-Dad
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