My dear Morpheus,
I'm sorry I haven't written lately. My mind has been jumbled and thoughts incoherent when I try to click them out on the keyboard. I find myself contemplating my past and feeling far too apathetic towards my future. I worry that my best days are behind me, that somewhere along the way I was knocked too far from the path I thought was mine and now I'm simply fighting through brush with a dull machete hoping for some semblance of "normal".
The other day, the question was posed of "Do you miss him?" Him being Brennan. The answer, the more I think about it, is a terribly resounding yes. It's a yes, but I wish I didn't. I see him everywhere. I see him in the eyes of men that I can tell have seen horrible things. I see him in actors in movies about war or I remember his presence when I make mashed potatoes or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The little tasks that seemed to be so menial when we were married, now have this aching nostalgia for when things just felt right. The end of our marriage was such a terrible time, (although much of the length of it had terrible times too) that I forget about the little times where we loved each other in our own fucked up way. I don't question why we split, nor do I want him back, there's just this chaotic black hole of emotions that I get swept into.
I suppose I'm dwelling on this because I started corresponding with one of my dear friends from California. We grew apart after our husbands came back from Iraq, for no specific reason, but she introduced me into a lot of things with Paganism and we used to knit together and do all kinds of fun things. It's just strange to me to be talking to her. It's strange that these people who had such a huge presence in my life then still exist. They're still alive, still breathing, still carrying on with their lives, and I feel like I'm just stuck in this weird purgatory where I can't go back to the way things were, but I feel like I can't move forward. I don't know if I should reach out to them, or if it's better to leave things be. I don't know if I should try to go to California and try to find some kind of reconciliation or some kind of peace with what my life was there or if I should just try harder to let it go.
I want to cry and scream and punch things... but that's not going to help either.
I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. I feel like I don't know who I am any more. I'm merely existing. Making it through each day, breathing in and out, just to go to sleep and do it again, hoping that one day things will feel better. That sounds like the definition of insanity doesn't it? Doing the same thing repeatedly just expecting different results. I guess the thing is is that I honestly don't know what move to make next. I don't know how to pull myself out of this rut that I've worked myself into. I'm tired and frustrated by it. I feel like I have nothing to show for myself and for what I've been through. I should be living on my own, I should have a semi-decent-enough-to-pay-rent-somewhere job, I shouldn't feel like a fucking failure all the damn time. I'm at a loss for creativity and poetry these days. The spark is gone and the dark and twistys are all too inviting. I'm by no means suicidal, just a little screwy in the head.
This message brought to by a combination of gin and the red-devil in my belly.
sorry.
L
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