It still amazes me how well I can function even from within
the depths of deepest darkness.
And I step outside and the world is bleak and beautiful in
the same breath of wind. And I listen to Paul Kelly sing Careless on repeat and
allow my eyes to well and dry in a pathetic loop of self-pity.
And I think back on all I have experienced, suffered, been
blessed with, and overcome in my 32 years and wonder if I will ever actually
learn to live with myself. If all this endless work to self-improve, to be
kinder, to forgive, to let things go, to accept what is, has really made any
difference at all.
And I sit in my comfortable, White, able-bodied certainty and feel sad because apparently that is my right.
And even my depression disgusts me. But it's still the safest place I've ever been.
How many cabs in New York City? How many angels on a pin? How many notes in a saxophone? How many tears in a bottle of gin? How many times did you call my name, knock at the door but you couldn't get in? I've been wrapped up in a shell nothing could get through to me. Acted like I didn't know I had friends or family. I saw worry in their eyes, it didn't look like fear to me. I know I've been careless. (I took bad care of this) Like a mixture in a bottle. Like a frozen-over lake. Like a long-time painted smile I got so hard I had to crack. You were there, you held the line, you're the one that brought me back. How many stars in the milky way, how many ways can you lose a friend?
