We have no choice but to rest where we are. We can fight that choice, sure. We can wrestle it to the ground, exhaust ourselves, fill our minds with the screaming frequency of frustration, fill our bodies with the acrid burn of 'if only.'
I've done it. I've got the self-inflicted scars to show for it. But eventually what seemed like lack becomes so overwhelming, carries with it such a gravitational pull that, this time, there really is no choice. We give up.
And, oh, is that a relief. To give up. To give in. To realize you may not still be standing, but you're here and you're empty. And, good goddess, is that ever enough.