I write poetry for a UU class now. And when I write it I find that it annoys me...my tenacity, that is... I don't feel courageous right now. I don't feel strong. And my poems don't feel right until I hit that chord. I feel angry. I feel lost and scared and as close to hopeless as I have ever felt. I know that I have over come and amazing amount of things. I KNOW this. I have been blessed to have found a therapist who has guided me to places where I can even comfortably banish some of the old bad thoughts that never let me believe before
Regardless. I'm here. I am sincerely broken. John's illness and his death did end up robbing me of my teaching career. I am not allowed to speak of it...I signed a paper. Suffice it to say, I accepted the deal and I don't like it. I took it because it was the only one I didn't see leading to the hospital.
Why do I let myself feel stupid for reaching for love and for hoping? I don't really think that is a dumb thing to do. Not in the big picture, not in the real world...just for me. Just me. I'm not made for being loved and being allowed to love...not a man. I feel like I snuck one past Fate and scored John by accident for a few years. Now, like my mother and grandmother, I'm meant to be alone and relatively miserable about that. This makes me think of Holes and Stanley Yelnats. I family cursed. I'd carry the pig up the mountain every day for a year. I would. And it doesn't matter. The pigs keep running away or confusing me before I can even get passed a week or two.
Owls and bears and mythical momentary ideals of battles and friendship and things that go bump in the night.
I don't know what I'm doing. The difference is, I am too old for this shit. And it makes no difference that I believe in love. That I will continue to do so. Because my life does not allow me to connect with others that believe the same, in similar situations, who are happy to connect. I had an asshole ask me once not to long ago if I had support. I referred to the amazingly loving online friends who send me digital love. He said no. He meant people to come over, have wine, hang out, give me hugs. Nope. I don't have that very often at all. I figure it must be my own fault. Because if it isn't, I can't d anything to change that. I'd prefer to have the power. Even when I have no clue what I am doing right, wrong, or awkward.
That might count as courage, right?