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Wishing I wasn’t

by tentoone

Last year at this time, I remember thinking there was no way I could get through the holiday season alone. Yet, here I am again, still with no home, unable to work even if I could find a job. I am over 4k miles from the only friend and support I have.

Every time we video chat, I am torn between closing my eyes to pretend we are close and watching his face every second I am able to. The sound of his voice is the only thing sustaining me right now. Well, that and the false hope that we will ever be together again.

Some days are better than others. This last week has been a nightmare. The 4th would have been my 19th wedding anniversary – I am just over a year divorced now.

All my life, I have wanted to write a novel and tried dozens of times, never getting anywhere. As I write this, I am nearly 11 chapters into my first, over 35k words. I think I should feel some sense of accomplishment, but all I feel is empty.

I’ve been staring at the screen all day trying to write and I cannot. I want to delete it and forget it ever existed.

The idea of leaving any part of myself behind reviles me. Every trace of me should be scrubbed from reality. It would be too arrogant to think I had anything worth sharing.

I’m in this dark pit. The worst of these feelings will pass once the seizure is over. Until that happens, I can’t even begin to claw my way out. To me, this is the raw truth and the times when it feels like it will be okay are nothing but pretty lies I tell myself to justify living.

That is when I feel most afraid… when I am giddy and hopeful – high and bright. It never lasts and each new fall hurts so much more than the ones before. Ultimately, this isn’t going to pass, it isn’t going to make me stronger, and next year at this time, I’ll still be right here wishing I wasn’t.

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