We met today and part of me just wanted to sink into the silence that exists between us sometimes so that I could try to reset what’s happening on the inside but your gentle prodding prevented that from happening.
We talked a bit about our upcoming holidays…first yours and then mine. It’s not that long of time apart really but I feel a sense of dread about it all. You’re gone when my Aunt is visiting and because you are going to visit with your son it feels like I’ll need to hold onto everything until we meet again. Even though you said I could be in touch I’ve been working very hard at not doing so regardless of how I’m feeling.
Being honest is good but closing my eyes, I don’t know whether to continue with this letter or not. I open my eyes quickly, and in a frantic moment of energy, end up deleting parts of what I’ve written as I surpress the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. Nobody seems to understand, but then again, how many people do I tell to begin with?
We don’t really know how to write about these things that find us wanting to die. It’s even harder for us to talk about them. To do either feels reckless and dangerous. I guess we just need someone to be with us in the scary, angering and sad places where darkness usually resides.
Whatever happens it feels like writing these things in black and white is perhaps the last thing we can control as we are being dragged into the unknown, into places painful and dangerous. Into places all-too-human, yet seldom visited.
We feel sad T, and we don’t know why anymore. We can pull ourselves out just enough to function, we always have, yet the sadness never leaves us. Our brain has built some new walls but maybe we can try to take them down brick by brick and start to figure out what this sadness means.