Today is a funeral and a rebirth.  Along with a remorseful bit of diagnosis comes a relieving statement:  tell him to come home.

Though there is much to celebrate, I, right now, am on the verge of breaking down.  What proves to be the most unbelievable part is the fact that I can actually feel a hole in my heart.  That hole should have been filled, being so deeply in love and all.  Yet here I am, somewhat on the brink of my sanity, very much ready to let it all go.

How am I supposed to do that when the one thing that could free me from my wails is the one thing I cannot determine?  The sadness is overwhelming.  It’s like remembering how a photograph feels when you’re in it and then realizing that you’re not supposed to be there.  The solitude is overwhelming.  It was unexpected and yet I knew it would come.  I knew the exact place and time, the exact moment, and I welcomed it.  So i blame no one but myself for permitting my being to feel so lonely.

Loneliness is not being alone.  It is not being detached from what you have committed yourself to.  It’s not being deprived of happiness or luxury or necessity.  It’s not standing alone in a crowded bar with a warm Margarita in your hand.  It’s not that.  It’s having everything but never really embracing the graces given.  You have no idea why you refuse it; you have every reason to keep it.  Yet the hesitation overpowers the acceptance that should have been like reflex.  You hesitate and hesitate and hesitate… you repeatedly deprive yourself of your worth, and you wonder why you’re sad and lonely.

I am afraid to become like the others who seem to be eternally sad.  I do want to reach out, I do want to speak up.  In fact, I did.  But when he asks, I do not know what to say.  Trust when I say I am doing my best to communicate, to let him know what’s wrong, with hopes of him finding the answer to a question that was never meant to be there in the first place… but I have no words.  I want to scream out my silence and let him see that my silence is the matter and I do not know how or why I can’t break free from it.

Maybe I am going through it all again.  Maybe this is depression.  They say depressed people are like this.  They know what will make them happy and yet they avoid it because they feel depressed, and going to that happy place, receiving that happy gift, will make them happy and completely not depressed and they can’t do that because they do not know how or what it’s like. 

I feel like this has something to do with what had happened the previous year, and I know exactly whom to talk to, and it saddens me because I know that person is not him.  My eyes are tired, my head is exhilarated, my heart is weary, every single part of me wants to shoot itself.  My hands are the only parts that have not failed me yet; they are good companions.  They talk for me, they speak for me, they tell the people what I feel though most of the time what I feel is completely incomprehensible for most of them.

I do not like this feeling.  I do not like it at all.  I wish there were better ways to put my disdain for this feeling into words…

I do not like this feeling.  I do not like it at all.