Toward the Crescendo of My Life |1st post
Where communication lacks, creativity surges
especially in death.
I’ve suffered several deaths:
the death of the abused child,
the death of the abused girlfriend,
the death of masking as neurotypical
and now, the most surprising death of all:
the death of that arrogant, middle-aged woman
who went against her intuition
and invited an emotional predator,
and subsequently his partner,
into my life
into my care
sitting at the core of who I am
like the spine of all my motivation
and the fuel for my demotivation.
My own control is limited in this grief.
I understand what’s happening.
I take responsibility
but I also fear that I cannot stop it.
Which cry will be the last?
Which conversation the final one?
Will I be protected from seeing either of them again?
Or will a happenstance glance at Publix
send me into emotional convulsions?
I was warned.
I was given the gift of a new start
and I prayed.
Prayed for us.
Prayed for clarity.
For forgiveness.
And now I pray for breath:
enough breath to stand,
enough breath to eat more than one meal a day,
enough breath to enjoy a spin class again,
enough breath to tell the truth
for someone to know
I messed up.
And now I can’t see vivid color.
Everything is muted.
It’s always cold.
And I’m alone.
A panoptic alone
one that can’t even be quenched by a crowd,
a familiar hug,
or hope.
I’ve committed the worst sin
the only sin:
a sin against myself.
A sin that included strangers
I didn’t want to hurt,
don’t want to know anymore.
How will I forget
if forgiveness will take too long?
Shouldn’t I…
with my heart’s remaining beats
be allowed to forget?
My mind wants a solution.
Wants to apply the scientific method.
Wants Merriam to provide a definition.
Wants to remember that I have responsibilities
that need me more than I need to sob.
But something primitive is restricting my routine
like all I can do is squat beside a stream,
let the sun bake my forehead,
let my fingers trail the surface of the water,
feel my heart beat in my chest,
and hear it roar in my ears.
And let my eyes skip, and scan, and search
for inspiration.
Inspiration to return to generating income.
Inspiration to shave my armpits.
All I know is:
I was born a Capricorn.
My moon is in Scorpio.
My name is .....
I have — and adore —
three babies who’ve grown into young adults.
I like…
but I don’t remember what it is.
I loved…
but I can’t remember why.
I’m alive…
but not sure for how long.
I hope
for forgiveness.
Posted Jun 9, 2025, 1:35 PM UTC