Returning to the confessional, I find it cathartic to ramble about things.
I know some people here care. My problem is always in that I don't want to burden someone, unload a bunch of crap on them. I feel that this venue allows me to distribute it evenly, and those who don't care, or can't face it anymore, can elect to pass it by.
Even now, after six months of knowing what was happening, I still have trouble facing reality. I am still willing to deny what I cannot hide from. I suppose that does make me somewhat of a madwoman.
Wanting to change something that you can't affect is futile, yet if I give up hope in this dark of the night, what am I to do? Giving up hope when that is all you have, and you have no glimmer of solace in another is tantamount to dying. I don't want to die.
If I had someone by me who I could place my hope in, then I could heal. Right now i feel like I'm in a row boat in a storm. I have to bail to keep the boat afloat. I have to row to get to shore. I can only do one of the two. Stop bailing and I sink and die. If I don't row to shore I will be swept upon the rocks and die.
A locked room mystery is easier to solve than this. So I bail furiously, then I row furiously. And in between I lose my hope and cry. If I don't cry maybe I won't feel anymore. Hah, fat chance. I feel with every second. And the night is worse. At night I've nothing to distract my thoughts, no work, nothing to interrupt my anguish. Beware the hours after midnight. Despair lurks with poisoned claws to rend and tear.
Time creeps slowly, and I cast about for hope. I have my fellow travelers, but i seek something deeper. I am to meet two new people, perhaps one of them will light a candle for me.