I Remember Saying...

I remember saying I want the ups and downs of life. I was a fool. I don't want the downs. The downs are so despicably lonely and cruel. They care not for what you love or what you dream of. The downs think everything you have is theirs and ready for their taking. The downs find what you cherish and ruin it. The ups may celebrate you, but the downs murder you.

The fact that life is hard is "supposed" to be a testament that life is worth living. I disagree. I want boring.

How can something so sweet and innocent be taken away from me, or should I be asking why? I am ready to just roll over and die. It would beat continuing to feel abandoned and deserted by God, by the universe, at the loss of my companion.

I hate the downs and all their terrible suggestive treatment that says I really should be grateful for what I still have. That would be fine, if I didn't mind all along giving it up for someone I love. Things mean nothing. Love means everything. Should I be grateful that is gone from me?

I haven't been divorced from my feelings. I have been smothered in them. I am drowning in them. I am dying in them. They fill my lungs with cold stinging release that may comfort me just a little as I numb to the pain I feel is so unfair and so undeserved. I shut down. People reach out, and as I reach back, I see myself shutting down. There is an opportunity, and I couldn't hear them because I'm drowning inside.

I once saw a woman on TV documentary showing her life as an alcoholic. She sat smoking in her backyard. She drank little vodka bottles. She cried and cried. She mourned and mourned. Her children were taken from her custody and no visiting allowed. She was overcome with the guilty knowledge that she was all to blame. Haze filling the torpid summer air, curled up in backyard lawn furniture, she sobbed, "Where are my babies? Where are my babies? Where ARE my babies? WHERE are my babies? Where are MY babies?" The sobbing went on and on. All sense of propriety and neighborly noise control forgotten. This woman had been disconnected, though by her own hands, from pieces of her heart and soul. Her children were clearly removed for a reason, for their safety and health. To save them from pain. The mother, the alcoholic was consumed with the pain of it all. She drowned in it as she did her wine. She pushed people away when they cared for her, when they worried for her. They provided opportunities. She turned them down. Why? Because, and I know now, it feels good. It actually feels good to hide from healing. It is like a drug of it's own. It becomes an addiction. Instead of feeding off of positive energy, you leech on it and create negative energy to dwell in. You seek out the negative.

I feel good just wallowing in the worst days of my life. I want to keep people at a distance. They won't understand. They say they do, but until they feel a loss, or remember a loss they had, they know I have to dwell. If only for a while.





So here I dwell. Leave me be.








Listen to Never Think.