My nights are long and confusing, but I wake up without the residual effects of a drug and am able to greet the early sun with a sharp sense of reality. Some mornings I have to work to overcome that just-over-the-shoulder sense that things are terribly wrong, and in those mornings, I forget that I have ever felt good or that the sun has ever been warm and bright.
And then the sun hits my face and I am alive again, above water, above ground, in the light places and I have no memory of where I came from, or knowledge of where I might be going.
Some mornings I’m thrilled to be alive and I bound out of bed. Some mornings I cannot move. How do I reconcile these two extremes? When will there be an evening out?
It’s a waiting game. You feel the deep dark places and you live in them fully. You might not even remember that the light places exist. But you remember that you just have to wait and something will change. Things right themselves and you will float back to the surface because that’s what bodies do in water.