It’s sometimes very hard to silence the doubt, the embodied response to histories of violence and suppression.
It’s hard to feel the light when Winter is looming, and my mind feels the long shadows of the past begin to advance as distance from the sun increases.
I don’t know what the fuck.
I have been training and working on my body, lengthening my muscles and helping to find a tune.
But I have been feeling like death. Even though everything is amazing with abundance, I go to bed wishing to never wake. Today I thought about the days of stench that might pollute my space when I slit my wrists long-ways. Nobody would find me for a while because I seem chipper.
And I am, but I wonder all the same, where these feelings come from?
I feel lazy, useless, inept and without power; even though I know there is hope for the future, right now I feel like I did when I was trying hard to murder me … all those decades of disaster, gone but still here somehow.
The surface is my savior, even though sanity slides dangerously slow as the world spins too fast.
I wrote a ‘to do list’ and I checked all but a few boxes. In a few days I will have satisfied the task-master … me.