My heart still grazes on thoughts of you, my dear. You've maintained your steely silence all these many months. I can feel you, nonetheless. I can always feel you. In some ways, I believe you count on that unalterable reality. My heart - it can never waver. It's a frightening thing - the way I feel. I've seen a specialist; thought you'd like to know, I know you really wanted that for me. And so I have my official diagnosis.
Just in the nick of time, too. Because I'd stopped taking all my meds. Yep - all of them. I wanted to see what would happen, if I stopped. I wanted to see how long it would take ... if at all. It took two or three months. It felt .... I wanted to die, that's how it felt. I've embarked upon the humble and winding road called recovery, cherising each insignificant and mundane moment, savouring the incredible fragility of this composition called life. And, for the first time, I find myself able think about you without feeling my soul howl in deep, gutteral pain. Pharmaceutical armour has induced a comfortably numb state of mind. Of my mind.
I often wonder where you are. I often believe I know. Silence betrays you. Forgotten, yet ever present, am I.
Friday, December 25, 2009
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