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IN PLACE

8 April 2008, 01:00

I’ve looked back on three months of entries that I couldn’t read before. I barely can read them now without feeling the tremendous pain I was in. Believe me, the written word was only a fraction of the flood of despair I was feeling. I was an open gash, bleeding and weeping.

I remember. And for some irrational reason, I feel embarrassed and ashamed for showing such… weakness. I know I shouldn’t but I don’t ever feel good to show the side of me that I couldn’t control. To paraphrase a comment someone said to me so many times, I KNOW so many things, I just don’t FEEL them, and knowing and feeling are two different things. I think that’s why I took the time and consolidated all the Ken/Mourning entries into the six or so listed now under dates.

Out of control and … defenseless. I felt that I was all this and I feel that it wasn’t a proud moment for me. I know it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense to me either. I just felt the need to minimize my reactions and my response to the death. I know in my head I have nothing really to be ashamed of, I know my reactions were normal, my crippled state was expected. Those who know me, tell me I hit lows that were dark and frightening. I look at what I went through. I look at the time it took. None of it seemed normal to me. Was I suppose to mourn gradually? Do I disrespect the dead if I don’t give the time to exist in stasis? I don’t understand now why I am chomping at the bit to start this second life. Am I running away? Shouldn’t I stay and fulfill my obligation to the dead, and to my dead life? I still get pangs of guilt that I am leaving and “quitting” this life that apparently I don’t want anymore. I fight with the feelings that want to drag me back to darkness everyday, feelings that tell me that I should be shrouded in sadness out of loyalty and respect. These battles become smaller every week, but they still happen from time to time.

I argue with myself that I can’t help but be in the light, and want to be out of the darkness. But is it out of respect that I needed to mourn and stop my life? For what he gave me, isn’t it the least I can give him? And for how long? Six months? A year? And what of all the examination and introspection I did of the relationship and my life this last 10 years? Was it disrespectful for me to do that since some of the revelations didn’t bode well for the dead? Examination produced some naked answers, some honest answers for me, but why was I so anxious to find these answers instead of just giving the respect of ignorance that maybe all that deserved. Is my fast timeline the result of my own selfishness? My own wants and needs to avoid sadness and move on? I haven’t ever settled on a satisfactory reasoning for my actions and thoughts. I probably never will.

But there are only a few things of which I am certain, nowadays. I have certainty in people close to me, and I have certainty that I am on a road to somewhere. And, well. That’s about it. I guess I’m still looking for answers, for maybe… validation.

I’m still up. I desperately would like to sleep. I look in the mirror in the mornings, and I now have pronounced dark circles around my eyes. I had finally felt relaxed enough to sleep a bit more normally in the past three weeks, but I guess I’ve cycled back and hit the insomnia bottle pretty hard now. I hope I can get it together by May 8. That’s when I make my first car trip to North Carolina. I’m not sure how a cross country drive is going to be like. I hope I’m doing all the things I need to, and in the right order. I hope I’m not forgetting something.

By gum, I think I’ve discovered at least one of the invisible questions that keep me awake at night.

  • 4-25-2008 later ****

Why do people think I’m fucking dumb as a box of rocks? As soon as I get some people to stop thinking that, another bunch starts? You know, if I was as dirt stupid, and lacking in common sense as some would think (judging from the advice they are giving me) I would be in a fucking home, have a giant, bulbous nurse feeding me with a spork. Maybe some people think that “helping” me (more often JUDGING me) will validate their own sense of self worth. To clarify for some of you out there, I am as advanced as at least TWO super genius monkeys, and you can take the advice of “Uh, you might wanna get a job” or “You have four dogs, you can’t be picky” and pretty much shove that because NO FUCKING DUH, EINSTEIN, you don’t think I realize this?