letting the fields lie fallow

I do not know why it happens this way but this is how it usually goes: things are going okay, maybe even well. You give yourself a day or two because you've been working hard enough and everyone deserves a break every now and then. No one can be vigilant all the time. You even keep up with the little habits that are supposed to keep him away. Everyone tells you to go easier on yourself so why not give it a shot. So you don't even notice as the sky starts to get further away. A matter of days or weeks later you suddenly taste bitter soil and realize everything is dark. You can't breathe. Some version of you that is not you has dug you into a hole and suddenly you have to crawl out of it but your tired, muddied hands cannot find any purchase.

He has been telling you and telling everyone else that it is fine. It seems odd to you that they would believe him - can't they see how deep the hole has gotten - but somehow that version of you that kept digging managed to convince them otherwise. Everyone is surprised when you tell them you're trapped down here. They wonder why you didn't say anything sooner. You tell them you didn't get yourself here, that was the other you, the one that can't do anything but dig, the one who's always there, waiting for his chance. They don't believe you, not really. You can tell they're disappointed. They don't realize that he's not you and he will never, never, never stop digging. He wears your face and he will lie to anyone as long as it means he can get you back down here.

When you're already down here it's easier for him to take control. You're already this deep, why not let him keep digging? Of course you want to get out of this hole and feel the sun on your face again but how can you climb out when your limbs are still trembling. When you haven't actually seen the sun in so long that you know it'll blind you. How can you ask for help when as far as everyone else knows you dug this hole yourself. You chose to be here.

So you sit in the darkness. You're no longer sure which of you is in control at any given moment. Maybe you want what he wanted now. You have climbed out so many times before and he always brings you back here. People passing by tell you to embrace the climb, that the climb is what matters, but that seems like a pretty easy thing to say from all the way up there. There are people near you, some of who might even understand you, trapped in holes of their own. But what can you ask of them? How could it be fair to ask someone to pull you up when you can't do the same for them? When the man that wears your face lied to them and pushed them away? When he convinced them that this was what you wanted, or even that you weren't digging at all? Better to just stay down here than to keep making others bear your weight. Every hand that reaches out to you is just another one that he will find a way to bite.

Eventually you climb out. You always do, with time. Sometimes someone forces you up, sometimes you finally ask for help, sometimes you just find the strength and climb up yourself. You remember, now, how to keep him away. You look outside and see the many, many holes he has dug and tell yourself it will never happen again. This time you won't let him hurt you, won't let him push anyone else away. You make new friends or reconnect with old ones. You cherish the daylight and the leaves on the trees. You promise not to let him take them from you this time. But no one can be vigilant forever. And one day, sooner or later, you will slip just long enough for him to start digging.