This year I never set aside time for deep reflection or a long annual post. I’ve found that I get these fleeting moments of inspiration and if I’m able to get the words out of my head and onto paper or a computer screen, then so be it. I can’t force reflection… it just happens. But what I have found is that I don’t want to force it – any of it. It should flow naturally when it’s meant to, making it most authentic and true. Authenticity is so important to me, now more than ever. The below was written in one of those “authentic moments”. I wrote this the day I also wrote my shared poem “the Loneliest Day in August”. I have several saved drafts like this one, because admittedly… as much as I aim to practice the art of vulnerability, fear still leads the way. But at the end of the day, I want to be truthful. You guys deserve unfiltered truth just as much as I deserve to share it. Life is a journey and my most recent realization is that happiness is not the end game. It’s a fraction of the overall picture. Just as pain and sorrow are. Human emotion is a bittersweet concoction and we should feel every damn bit of it. So, here’s one shade…
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My soul feels asleep. My nerve endings crave stimulation — my emotions, too. The noises. The world all around me, so much happening — yet I feel dead inside. Dead, yet antsy. I hate the superficiality, the pretending. I hate that there is so much happening that is not integrated into what this thing is all about. My heart is heavy in my chest, weighted by the accumulation of rubble… rubble from the destruction of what this life has dished out. My heart, riddled with holes, painted with scar tissue.
I’ve branded it all essential, ya know. But why? I think on this pursuit of …peace of mind? Just this exploration of, dealing, managing. I’ve sought to brand, to label – to understand. But, there is no understanding. There’s no understanding why… one night in the summertime as a child, I sat on my dad’s lap and clung to him. I clung to safety, love, solace. And the moment passed like sand through my fingers. Time slipped on… pain ensued in its many grotesque forms. There’s no understanding. No understanding why my solace, my refuge, my safety — wrapped a noose around his neck on the loneliest hour in August, and left. Brands are merely temporary aren’t they? On the loneliest day in August, my solace became suffocation. And forced me to learn how to breathe.
The Loneliest Day in August.
On the loneliest day in August…
I sat, alone. The air around me, stale with sorrow. Heavy, yet emptier than anyone knew possible. Pictures all over, painted with what was everything to me, is and will always be. Pictures of my lifeline for so long. That can only last for so long. So long.
Change, all over. Nickels, dimes, pennies, quarters… worthless, like me. It continued to build up. I had to spend on the nicotine, the alcohol, anything to escape. And it continued… change, change, more and more change. This feeling, will never change. I will never change. Worthless.
My soul, heavy, like this air, this darkness, this feeling. This will never change. And yet, it’s growing darker. The darkness, thicker than it’s ever been. Those pictures… my lifeline, I can’t see them anymore. It’s so dark.
When will this end? It needs to end. This is the end. It’s too heavy, too dark. It’s been dark for so long… heavy for so long… empty for so long… worthless for so long.
So long…
Food for Fleeting Thoughts 