I’ve been thinking about death a lot. It’s consumed me this week. The recent death of my cousin, the impending 1-year anniversary of my best friend’s death, my grandfather’s current slow demise from lung cancer, and finally, the virus that courses through my own veins. I’ve tried to commit lately to being grateful for each day, to living as well as I can, to not focusing on the fear and the darkness. It’s just that when the fear does seep in, the sadness, the loneliness…in the midst of the maelstrom, it all just seems so…I don’t know…overwhelming?
The problem is, when I sink into this place it releases the floodgates on things long repressed. Of course. Naturally. It’s the endless loop of torment that then plays over and over, trying to convince me that I’m less than. The loss. Of others. My own. And…I’m 8 fucking years old again. Is it always going to go back to that? The loss is always tied to abandonment, isn’t it? Or rage. Or fear. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. In the end, it’s just the loss and it leaves me quite empty and broken-hearted.
There’s really no way to prepare for such misery. Just pray that it passes quickly enough. It always passes, and if I can keep the madness at bay long enough for it not to consume me then hopefully I’ll be looking back on these words soon and wondering what the big deal was.
I’ve been writing a lot lately. The other thing that’s consumed me. For better or for worse. I’ll share some of it in these pages soon. I’ve needed time to wrap my head around some things before I shared. Forgive my absence, my silence, those of you who’ve written, commented, tweeted, etc. Please know I appreciate your good thoughts, your prayers, your support. I’m working my way out of the darkness. I’m trying.