When someone asks you how you’re feeling (and bless them that they do) and there’s nothing else you can say. I can try one of the reliable, tired syllables for sad: down, depressed, low, awful, bad, despairing, hopeless. “My symptoms are severe.” None of them feel true. I hate English. I hate words. I hate the words that pass through my head when I try to describe these sorts of things and I hate what I’m writing right now.
God knows where I am. That’s the title of a documentary, but I say it to myself sometimes. Because if my feeling is so desperately bound to me and unable to be communicated in any pure form to anyone else, God would still know. God would know where I am. God would know what I am. If He’s there.
But everyone else can’t. So on earth I remain alone. And if earth is all there is, then it stands to reason that no one knows where I am.
But I don’t like to assume I have the answers. So maybe God knows.