I find myself in a mildly confusing state of mind. I feel as if I am eight years old again, as if time hardly passed and I am back where I was in February of 1997, uncertain, terrified of what was about to happen. And I can't help it, after all these years and my putting the pain to rest, laying down the anger that gripped my soul for so long a time, I am back to 8 years old, creeping down the stairs to make sure that he's still here in our house, still on the medical bed in the corner of the living room. There's a scarred bit of tissue in the middle of my heart and for some reason it has begun to bleed again. It hurts ever so much--I am agony, I am pain, I am shrieks in the night of my mind, I am a rock, sunk to the bottom of a lake, drowning in the murky waters of my soul's depths. I want to scream, I want to weep into the great void, the bottomless chasm of pain that raises it's ugly head, when I was quite certain at some point I had crushed it with a shovel,I had conquered the deviant little serpent of pain. But there it is: the void with the gaping mouth ready to consume me with a suffocating darkness. I want to scream, but I cannot. I want to beat my fists against something, make something hurt as bad as my own heart. But I cannot--such displays of emotion are discouraged in public places, especially the work place.
This doesn't make much sense, readers, so don't distress yourselves with the confusion that will inevitably ensue with the reading of this post. I've simply come to realize more than ever these truths: There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on. It's too soon to say goodbye.
I have no more to say. Words fail me.
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