Since the slate has been wiped clean and no more amiable connections are in the way, I feel freer to write down what I need to – minus any apprehension that kindred spirits on the ethernet will come to learn just how much of a loser I am.
Sometimes it’s discomforting how people would assume I’ve anything to offer… because I just don’t. My hands are bare – there’s nothing in them I could tender to anyone. I am practically poor. I live very simply. I am reaching middle age. My looks are fading fast. I’ve no real achievements to be proud of. Not a single property to claim as mine. Even the small apartment in which I live almost rent-free is facilitated by my sister’s generosity.
Deep inside, I am emotionally and spiritually broken; the two people I have deeply cared about have long been gone.
Now and then it confounds me how I was able to get through the year after my dearest one passed away. But then, I recall having been on auto pilot. Functioning. But principally more-than-half dead inside.
I’d prefer to slip into other people’s minds in this dimension so I wouldn’t have to deal with mine. I have taken solace in their words, sought shelter in their crevasses no matter how cold it could get at times. I am effectually trying to walk away from my past, my present, and my future.
As anyone can discern, I essentially have no life right now.
When younger people speak of agony and misery over things that seem to be inconsequential to my judgment, I can’t help thinking if they were indeed punctured by life’s jagged knives. I wanted them to look me in the eye so I might be able to say “wait until you lose the ones you’ve cherished your entire being to eternity.”
The sensitive part of my character might have been serving as a liability instead. All the same, I would like to enlighten you more as to what true heartbreak has been for me.
It’s when you walk down the street in the course of your everyday existence only to see a hapless feline that was either ran over moments ago by a speeding vehicle, or is in horrid suffering and about to die quite soon from the same cause – and you can’t do anything to save it. It’s when you suddenly hear upon a silent midnight in your neighborhood a piercing harrowing cry by a man’s best friend while it’s being slaughtered by human monsters to serve as a dish for a coming drinking spree.
It’s when you realize a dear child of yours has been carrying an unexplained resentment all this time and all your efforts to reverse the situation thenceforth will be for naught.
It’s when you remember a dearest one during their final hours gasping their last breaths while you are gently touching their forehead, praying that any physical torment would soon end.
It’s when an uncertainty hits and engenders doubt if you’d still be able to view a thousand more sunrises and sunsets and beautiful moon skies. And it’s then that I tell myself, “Dear father, you had been so strong. I promise…I’m taking this to the finish line.”
Putting our one foot in front of the other. Apart from that, what further options do we have? We each aim to reach our own borders. Even if we have to crawl in the end.
The sting of depression is undeniably palpable and graphic, I understand the feeling fully well since a mysterious depression dropped in from nowhere, too, in my early thirties. I couldn’t fathom what was pulling me down. But I did everything to combat it (the source was more of a medical condition, imo) and I believe I succeeded. It was nonetheless a painful brief era that remains unforgettable to this day. My compassion for the ones who are endlessly battling the demons of depression is here to stay. My only wish is may they refuse to fall for the ephemeral comfort of drugs or alcohol. Because if you allow either of them into your precious young lives, you could only lose big in its eventual outcome.