Though I am no stranger to bad news, I am somewhat unerved every time I hear it. I don’t feel older yet, I am middle aged . I have been in a sick bed. My lifestyle before now was rather reckless.
Who thinks when young anything else matters, I didn’t.
Anyway, I am home now and anxious to start writing again. I guess, one could say, I have been depressed. I have been hanging by a thread. It snapped finally. I couldn’t get out of bed to take care of myself.
I am very used to ignoring my feelings to become stronger. “Its temporary and will pass.” That’s a crock because strength does not self sacrifice. Strength endures because strength knows when to ask for help. I got it twisted somehow. I am better now mentally but still physically ill.
Which is what is making me depressed. I can’t forgive myself for being sick, yet. Being broken, weak. How I look at it anyway. I am working on it. I have issues.
This poem below is the first thing, I wrote for you…
The relief she had been looking for all of her life, she finally found it out in the desert. Her obligation to society had been met. And now, she no longer had to go back and deal with any of them.
All of the ones who made her unhappy, that needed something from her that she didn’t want to give. What is left, can finally live amd be free. And it is going to be a while before anyone ever see her again.
While digging in the sand she wonder what took her so long to feel this way.