Monday, June 06, 2011
Act As If
Well, that's what 'they' say. Until 'it' goes away. And it hasn't. In spite of. Acting as if.
Acting as if life is wonderful and I am so lucky and my gawd you are living your dream.
But right now it is overwhelm. Every single phonecall I get needs something from me. Not that I lay the blame on anyone else. Sometimes, I need a phonecall that just says "How are you?" and means it. Not as a prelude to do this and do that and can you and will you.
But all that aside. This thing always comes out of nowhere, sometimes to stay, at the top of the stairs, at the door. I try not to feed it but I do. A poem came into my head last night and I sat and cried. A harsh poem about words and boots and fists that came out of nowhere when I was five-six-seven. Old ghosts gather as the black dog paces, see? And nothing I can do can stop them. Well medication did for a while but the payback demanded was flatlining. As in dead. The unme.
At this age I know it will get bored if I don't feed it and move on. I will show it no fear. I will do the things I have been taught. Take care of me. Walk in the sunshine. Breathe in the deep sea air. Take some pictures. Write more secret poems. Read other blogs that get the same visits from the same black dog.
For I am not alone in this fragility and how comforting that is.