I have waited for this all my life.
Yet already, I grow weary.
It is not that I am wishing for something else. I do not regret the room of simultaneous horror and joy that I have found.
But I realize that this process imitates the nature of a marathon; I need to pace myself accordingly.
* * *
I feel guilty for feeling the way that I do—for feeling the need to take a break, for feeling the need to retreat.
And yet, just as the body needs time to recover from extensive physical exertion, so the mind and heart need times of rest and recuperation from periods of intense and prolonged emotional exertion.
The past ten months have indeed been a marathon of emotional toil and labor. And that’s in addition to the preceding seven years of emotional perplexity and strife as I searched for those whom I have now found.
Again, it is not that I am despairing or lamenting.
It is not that I am second-guessing.
It is simply that I am completely exhausted and enervated.
I want to be full of excitement and thrill. I want to be bubbly and happy, and somewhere underneath this haze, I believe I am.
But right now, I see an image of myself in my mind that has the look of a woman with her head and shoulders slumped over, heels dragging, legs quivering, and eyes heavy.
* * *
I need to write a letter back to my Omma.
I need to fight to keep in contact with my Appa.
I do not want to lose the connection that has been so delicately and carefully forged. And yet, I seem barely able to find the strength to lift my mind and to take hold of my heart long enough to build the words and fortify the emotions necessary to continue.
I know that eventually I will.
Ultimately, I want this to last.
* * *
For now, I just need to take a deep breath, close my eyes, and find the rest for which my mind and heart are aching.