Saturday, April 7, 2012
Writing Myself Out of a Box
I was unprepared for the internal changes wrought by being physically ill. Nothing yet feels the same as it did before I got sick. Nothing in my world feels comfortable inside, or familiar. Hopefully when I'm fully back to "normal" everything will feel "normal" again. Right now it all feels like brave new world, not going back to the way it was, get over it, be here now. And it's frightening, it doesn't feel like me, I don't know who I am inside.
When I'm physically ill, it really underscores the fact of my essential aloneness in life. I want to be nurtured and taken care of, yet there's nobody to do that for me. I feel like I want to die, I feel like it doesn't matter if I do die, I feel completely isolated, adrift with no moorings, no touchstones. This is the scariest place for me. All my abandonment issues rush to the surface. It's achingly difficult for me to reach out from this place...but I'm forced to, because there isn't anybody reaching in to get me. This is the most painful place for me in life.
I fear that I don't know how to get and keep myself happy, coupled with my uncertainty about what I'm doing with the rest of my life other than just striving to make it through to the end. I fear that my art isn't enough to satisfy my soul. I fear the burden of having to recreate my life day after day after day. And yes, it feels like more of a burden than an adventure, and my options feel really limited.
I guess this is an indication of how sick I still feel inside, that life feels like a chore instead of a source of joy. Although it always has, in my reality. In my heart of hearts, I don't really want to be here anymore. But here I am.