Way back in high school, I ended up taking a Humanities class. Not just a foreign language, but a for reals Humanities class. We studied art and artists and architecture. I remember wondering why artists had to be so tortured to be so brilliant in their craft. Beethoven was pretty much certifiable, DaVinci and Michelangelo each had some demons, and don't even start on VanGogh.
The longer I experience life, both with joy and pain, I realize and know that it is the pain that creates an avenue for the creation to pour through. Maybe it's because when things get easier, we get complacent and comfortable. We heal. I know that in my life, I only write when I am hurting. When I feel a true and desperate passion for something. The release is sweet. The words that swirl around in my head during tumultuous times are so caustic and so vile that I actually fear speaking them out loud. People say that they are here for me, and I believe them, but the words that I want to use are severe. Not profane, but hateful. Repugnant. I am ashamed of them. I am ashamed of how I feel at these times, and sorry to admit that I rarely control how I feel, except to try not to spill them. Except when I write.
I am so afraid. Actual terror. Money is evil, you know. It can buoy a person right up, because it provides comfort and stability. It creates opportunity. When it disappears, it is breath taking. Suddenly not being able to buy yourself a soda because it may just be too frivolous is gut wrenching. Remember the days when we could afford a pizza? How did I not appreciate the blessing and the gift of that stability? But, I did appreciate it. For 2 years I have prayed that it not be removed from us. I tried to be so mindful of the gifts, and grateful for them. I did not forget.
I am so angry. So very very livid about the circumstances. I made none of the choices that placed us here in the predicament. How might it have been different if I had stepped it up and been present instead of taking the back seat because it truly wasn't a situation that warranted my presence, officially? If it were anyone else, it would have worked out, and I am angry because, of course, we would fumble it all up. I am still mourning the loss. I still cant believe it is over. I still think it should come back in some way, provided by some miracle. I still want to find a time wrinkle and fix it. I am still reeling. I don't completely understand how I got here. And, I don't really like my new life. It should have worked out. There is really no reason at all that this is happening. None.
At times I do feel the peace. I am trying to choose to believe that there is a good waiting in the distance. And that may be true, but during the vast majority of the rest of the time, I feel an absolute dread. I feel that there isn't a lot of distance between us and a shelter or a street corner or eating 1 meal a day at the soup kitchen. My skin hurts. There is actual pain and discomfort physically. I cannot concentrate.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't considering leaving again. It is true that I have been considering work and school for a long while, but always ended each conversation with myself with this thought, "I'm afraid if I do that, I'll leave him." If I could just feel that he wasn't stupid... I have made covenants to harken to his council. To follow. I know that I am not supposed to go, I have at least been given that answer, but I want to. And I feel shame for that, too.
And then the passing of Grandpa. I feel so guilty for so many things. Not visiting, having an excuse to cry and needing to have a paycheck in addition to a service. I hate that he was alone. I hate that I don't have a picture with him. I hate that I am so selfish.
Goodbye, Grandpa. I know that you and Grandma must be so happy to be together again right now. I know that you and Lyle have had a lot to catch up on! I am so happy that it was easy for you, and that you endured well. I am grateful for your example in my life and the dry shtick you always had. Thank you for being you and never anyone different. I love you.
That is all for now. It is severely disjointed and definitely not genius like you could have expected from a Renaissance Tortured Soul, but it is all I have inside me at this moment. It is raw, and hopefully I can begin to heal soon.
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