Last night I hit the point of smoke re-uptake where I started writing poetry again. It was nice. I have to work hard at blocking out a million little voices though. Especially Virginia Woolf's from Orlando, talking about all those unwelcome s's.
If I was clever I'd start seeing a headshrinker here. The other night as I was walking home I saw a man who had been hit by a car on one of the main streets lying very still. I scuttled on as usual, not wanting to be one of those awful people who gawk, not wanting to risk getting in the way of emergency services, who were already there getting a stretcher ready. But as I was almost clear I heard a high-pitched thready wail that sounded like a child in trouble and I had to turn and look.
It was still a grown man lying very still. But for an awful moment I saw him as a child-that-was, and all of us as children-that-were - and my missing boss was quite childlike in some ways, so it was no problem to think of him that way, and it's been a combination that's been torturing me, actually, thinking of him as he could have been at the end, a scared child - and the panic that came out of that, a horrible feeling that one wants to leave behind with childhood - "oh shit, who's taking care of us all?" - was almost overwhelming. I hadn't had a panic attack in years and I wasn't about to start having them again next to a possibly fatal accident scene where the emergency services didn't require a distraction, so I breathed heavy and scurried back home.
But this is something that needs to be addressed. I've been in a constant state of low-key panic that bursts out periodically for weeks now every time someone I have regard for does anything a little bit risky - and I'm talking a little bit risky - works too hard, comes home too late, doesn't call at the exact time they usually do. It risks turning me into one of those worn-down women with only one mode. And just like Magnum PI, I know what you're thinking, but actually the smoke re-uptake is a coping mechanism. All this was worse before I started getting high every night again.
1 commento:
i seem to be able to draw a fair amount of parallels between your situation and the one with Brenda. the worst part was wondering how afraid she was just before she died. wishing you could teleport yourself to that moment and just hold them and tell them that everything would be ok (that is, if you couldn't teleport yourself and save them).
outside of the obvious sadness and anxiety that shit like this can actually *happen* in real life, the most destabilizing thing is the realization of how short life actually is, and how crappy it is not to enjoy every waking moment. (especially since it's so unfair that they don't get to enjoy these moments anymore, and you supposedly do but can't seem to muster the necessary lightheartedness.)
if you're anything like me, the spliffs will help until they don't, but the sadness and the confusion about what to do with yourself now that life doesn't quite make sense anymore will remain until you do something about it.
so, listen to your clever self and go see a shrink. or move to Africa. whatever you do, don't feel bad about feeling bad. try not to feel bad about anything except the situation at hand. life is still generally good, except for the suck. your head just isn't in the right place to see anything en rose. give it a break.
love you. xoxox
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