I awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day my heart would descend from my chest into my stomach. By early afternoon I am overcome by the feeling that nothing is right, or nothing is right for me, and by the desire to be alone. By evening I was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of my grief, alone in my aimless guilt, alone even in my loneliness. I am not sad, I would repeat to myself over and over, I am not sad. As if I might one day convince myself. Or fool myself. Or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because my life had unlimited potential for happiness, but so far it was an empty white room. I would fall asleep with my heart at the foot of my bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of mine at all. And each morning I would wake with it again in the cupboard of my rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the mid afternoon I am again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.... !!! ☜s@m ☞
Posted on: Sun, 02 Feb 2014 12:00:41 +0000
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