Even the music in my head is jumbled. By the time I am done with this entry maybe a song will stick, maybe I will have a title. Maybe some day soon I will write a poem again, I will truly feel happiness again, maybe I will actually find a way to start these tears and cry until I stop.
It has been 5 months since the last post, not easy months but not bad ones either. I go to work. I eat. I sleep. I move through life maybe a bit more hermit like than this time last year but maintaining an appearance of normal.
The losses of important friends have been monthly. People continue to surprise me with their incredible ability to be beautiful. While other times people surprise me with their narcissism and meanness. I am the sidekick in an incredible mashup of a Nicholas Sparks and Stanley Kubrick movie.
I wake up most mornings feeling peace, joy and gratitude. I can sometimes make it through a whole morning without thinking about the rape. Maybe lunch or the music on the way home will make me think I need to call one of my friends…and then I realize that cell phone reception will never reach that far.
Do others guess that everything looks like its like it’s filmed through a Vaseline wash? They see my smile, hear my words, exchange news, even hug. Are they aware of the thick woven wool scrim interjected between us?
Nothing touching me. Grief is the perfect isolation tank.
I need a mental equivalent of Clyndamycin to free myself of his memory, all the bad memories, all the betrayals.
And I need emotional morphine to live with all these happy memories of those I have said good-bye to this year.
But I am still getting up.
And getting on.
Cause that’s what I do
and sometimes I just play along, why don’t you come too.
if it’s a friend you need, let it be me.
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