What
Came Out When I Tried To Write Today – 12-21-14
And what would happen if I just started writing. Writing to
you. Witting about how it feels for you to be so physically absent from my
life. And my personal knowledge that I will never get over this. It will always
loom larger than any other meaningful thing in my consciousness. It will lay
over it an opaque veneer of sorrow, resignation and grief that is razor thin
but impenetrable. And that all the light and color that should be emitted from the
day’s events and activities take place below this veneer; clouded under a dim layer.
Buzzing somewhere below a glass darkly. And everything is a little less
vibrant, pale, surreal, devoid of the present, brilliant reality it should have,
a catalog of endless, numbly felt events that just happen. And I know this is
the rest of my life. A slow, mundane torture of sorts. And nobody wants to hear
this. Who wants to know about something they can do nothing about because there
is no way to un-ring this bell. And the silence and veiled resentment is there even
among those who believe they know. Those who think they can speak from righteous
experience similar to mine. Yes, I remember being where you are but I moved on.
I chose remembrance with joy vs mourning them with my sorrow. As if the two ways
of evoking those loved and lost is so easily separated. It’s what I’m choosing
they say; my understandable but willful, bitter, unevolved choice to linger in
this space. A curse I willfully bring upon myself. Surely, I could see the half
full glass if I only tried. If I had the courage and the will. And the
spiritual fortitude. If I was sufficiently wise and strong. But here’s another
possible view. Perhaps I am too much of a reminder for them of how empty their feigned
“wisdom” really is. Perhaps I’m the one with the anguished, unenviable,
inconvenient honesty to confront the unvarnished truth. And the courage not to
sugar coat this vile, decaying, unalterable reality with sunny yellow paint and
new age platitudes. I cannot walk away rationalizing the state of my life or my
abject failure in living it. Perhaps it is me who has the strength and personal
integrity not to plaster a giant smiley face on misery because it makes it
easier to pretend, because it makes it easier to breath. You say I should lean
to accept the things I cannot change? Well, I accept that on June 30, 2006,
before I knew for certain what had happened, I entered an unalterably twisted
dimension where the space time continuum perverted reality, creating a crushing
force smashing me and all I thought I knew into useless, granular pieces.= And
I’m not sure how long I can bear this pulverized state of being, or aimlessly wander
in this opaque, clouded, colorless existence. It’s been more than eight years,
and I remain. But still, most days, it seems hardly worth it. This was not
supposed to be my life.
