The time has come to release the clutch.

I have tried my best, for so long. At every fork and milestone, I did what I needed to do. What I was taught to do. What I was told to do. I’ve searched endlessly for creative inspiration; to try and find a version of my self who could contribute in a way that brings people smiles and joy and laughter and comfort and reflection.

I have spent a lifetime being an ornament on other people’s trees and when the season ends and the tree is brought down, I am stored in a box until needed again.

The details of my particular situation are of no consequence. My story is not unique. I am one of many, in a similar boat, in a raging sea, pleading for calm while learning to surf the waves of exhaustion that perpetually roll over me.

I’m not convinced removing myself from this tormented Sea will have the intended effect. It seems there has always been a voice inside who knows, insists even, that death is not a solution when one takes ones own life. It merely repeats again from a different node in a different time. But if you must, then do so and rediscover the futility of the act. This knowing has been the only thing stopping me, the Fool inside is persuasive and afraid.

The Fool is also the one writing this letter, as another attempt to thwart me from my task.

Given the decades long history of this dance of friction between us, I always know who wins. It is never me.

Until next time.