I don’t know. That’s the theme these days: I don’t know.

Yesterday I told four of my five clients (the ones whose personalities I knew would possibly be aided by my transparency) that I didn’t know how to show up for them at a time like this; that I didn’t know if I was any stronger than they were regarding the uncertainty. I don’t know that the sessions were any good, but I suppose I was authentically incompetent.

I don’t know how to write or talk about the silence that overcomes me with increasing frequency. When once it was as simple as calling it a “collapsed” or “depressed” state, it is now something else. There is a component of exhaustion to it. But that doesn’t quite do it justice. Somewhere in the middle of the week I fall into a sort of silence. I don’t really know what to say. I begin to look off into the distance more and reach for books and comics with greater frequency. Television shows begin to irritate me. I grow increasingly comfortable with solitude; so comfortable that it makes me uncomfortable. I begin to wonder how I could possibly allow others into this fortress and I fall into anxiety.

I don’t how to resolve this ambivalence within me. The way I want both to be left to drift away and die alone and, conversely, to have more connection. I don’t know how to answer the question “How are you?” I don’t know if I’m well or not. Probably not. I think. Maybe. I’m in a silent faraway place that is familiar to me and yet unfamiliar all at once.

Last night I dreamt that I was using sign language to communicate with my best friend. Somehow neither of us could speak and we were fluent in sign language. It felt so…right. I don’t know what it means. Maybe I don’t want to know. But I was at peace and when I woke up I wanted to go back into the dream. I was aching to go back into the dream.

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