I feel like running. Fast.
It’s been seven months of a hardships and sadness. Loss and grief. In my mind the stories from these months are so close. They lie in the surface of my thoughts most of my days. And I grow so tired of them, and the desire to change them, or to reverse what has happened hasn’t left me yet. I think I understand how denial becomes a way of navigating through a new life. A life without parts of you that has left. Holes.
Taking the easy way, using the clichés so worn out by our lack of better analogies or explanations. But everyone who has a similar hole, someone who’s also lost parts of themselves – they understand, they don’t need you to explain.
Loss is an integral part of life. Anxiety too. A feeling of panic. Of tremendous weight upon you. And acceptance might be the last thing you want to resort to. But it doesn’t happen that very same day. It won’t let you, not just yet. Float in the dark night sky filled with heavy grey clouds. Weep. Mourn.
I’m not sure if putting my weight on you would do you any good, and I’m not sure if I’m entitled at all to say that what I carry is a weight to speak of. But still. These encounters with loss make up my horizon today, such as yours make up your.
I feel like running. Fast. Throwing many things away. I guess loss does that to us. At least I feel that. To rid myself of the things I don’t want in my life. The darkness. And where does acceptance come in? How do I harmonize myself with the inevitable. To lose someone. To lose. How can we accept its part in our lives? Just avoid the thought all together? It seems like the common solution. But that’s when it hurts the most. When you don’t expect to lose. When you’re turned the other way. It just crushes you. Sweeps you off of your feet. When you embrace the sweetness of life, a handful of sand is thrown into your eyes, and a kick at your feet throws you at the ground.
I feel like running. And I can run. Put my shoes on. Put Justice For All… on. Just run. That’s not denial. That’s just breathing.
I feel like diving. Dive to the bottom. Look at what’s down there. Hold my breath. Feel the cold water stir my pulse and heart and mind. That’s freedom. Not denying. That’s an embrace.
What I’m trying to say is probably that I’m looking for a constructive path to navigate through, and accept the toils we meet. We can’t avoid it, and we shouldn’t.