I would give anything to be anywhere but here right now. That might be fucked. There is resentment in me. That’s a bad sign. I’m avoiding it. Whatever acceptance looks like this time. I’m learning now, to stay present and aware. To not project myself in endless hypothetical fantasies. Or bury my senses in the anticipation of the needs of others. I need every ounce of strength I can conjure. To focus, on myself. It sounds strange considering the circumstances. Maybe it is strange. It’s certainly less than ideal. But I’ve been here many times before. I’ll be here again I’m sure. Someday it’ll be the last time. I know that there will be one last hospital visit. One last loud echoing crunch in my mind. This exists somewhere in the fringes of my awareness though. I am fairly content with that. It’s more like a general nagging intuition I sometimes get that the worst is yet to come. Somehow, the deepest sorrows are still unknown to me… yet. They will be mine someday. Like it’s my calling.
Maybe that’s ok. Sometimes dramatic lives produce individuals of character and action. That’s on me though, isn’t it? Drug addicts have pretty dramatic lives too.
But no. I’ve learned how to do this. over the years I’ve gotten better at it anyway. It is a strange posture. To stay still and poised like you’re ready for anything. But still protected from the harsh, biting realization that you’re surrounded by hungry wolves. Like you’ve encased yourself in a glass bowl, completely aware of your surroundings but separate from them. It’s not as exhausting as you might think. It takes effort. Not much though, an occasional mental reminder at best, to not allow your thoughts to stray down the wrong path. Consistent management is all. Lots of tiny gestures keep the workload manageable.
I am avoiding it. I’m ok with that though. It’s a lot. I am feeling more comfortable though, the longer I sit here at his bedside. Machines hissing, whirring, and the occasional startle of something beeping. I’m acclimating. I’m in control. I’m… Considering going on a run. It just seems like that’s something that people with healthy coping mechanisms might say. Maybe I could be one of those people. This neighborhood is kind of fucked though. We’ll see. It’s a nice night for it.
Maybe I just want to run away.
I’m tired of feeling helpless. I’ve made the decision to not do that anymore.
I’ve made the decision to love myself enough to feel whatever it is I’m feeling.
only what I’m feeling is terrified.
