The Spaces Between

No one talks about how exhausting it is to live like this.

Everyone talks about “stay strong” and “it gets better,”

but no one tells you about the in‑between,

the part where you’re strong for a minute

and then a complete mess the next.

It feels like being tossed between two cliffs.

One side of me whispers, keep going, just one more step,

you’re almost there.

The other side pulls me down with, I’m done.

I can’t do this anymore.

I’m so tired of trying. 

I want to let go.

It’s an emotional whiplash I never asked for.

Some mornings I wake up believing in myself,

thinking maybe today is the day I climb out of this hole.

By afternoon I’m spiraling,

my heart in my throat,

my hope slipping through my fingers like sand.

No one warns you how draining it is

to be both the cheerleader and the enemy

inside your own head.

To carry hope in one hand

and despair in the other,

and feel them both weigh the same.

I go from planning my future in bright colors

to staring at the ceiling in the dark,

too tired to move,

too wired to rest.

One hour I’m imagining my life getting better,

the next I’m wondering if I even have it in me.

And it’s lonely.

People see the good hours,

the smiles,

the “I’m okay.”

They don’t see the moments

where I’m gripping the edge of my bed,

trying not to fall apart.

It’s not just a mood swing.

It’s a tug of war inside your soul.

It’s trying to breathe underwater,

coming up for air,

then getting pulled back down again.

And somehow, I’m still here,

writing it down,

hoping that maybe naming it

will make it a little less heavy.

-dmnd