Lines Between Living

My alarm goes off well before the sun even considers rising.

3:00 a.m. blinks back at me, blurry and unforgiving.

I lie there for a moment, knowing I want to hit snooze but also knowing I won’t.

I sit up anyway.

I grab my phone and remember I didn’t even set out what I’m going to wear.

The exhaustion from yesterday has settled deep into my legs, heavy and familiar.

And the thought comes, quiet but clear:

this is not where I’m supposed to be.

Still, I push myself up.

Because I need to do this.

Because this will be part of my story.

Part of what I went through.

They’ll say it’s easy work.

Minimal tasks.

Nothing to complain about.

But those minimal things drain my soul,

because I know deep in my bones that I am meant for something else.

I layer up for another winter day and wonder if maybe it’s just seasonal depression.

Maybe when the light returns, when the warmth does, this feeling will fade.

And then the nudge comes again:

No. This isn’t that.

So I write this as a reminder to myself

if it’s true that pressure makes diamonds,

then I will be the biggest one ever found.