Everything ends. And in the end there’s always so much pain… Sometimes I wonder how it is even possible to get through without losing a part of sanity. Or soul… Every instance of pain hardens me, like blisters from a shovel harden the palms of one’s hands. I’m disintegrating in heartache – never to be assembled in quite the same way. Each time something goes missing – something soft and tender, something of the quality of childhood laughter.
Every following time I encounter pain, another – different – spot of my unsheltered flesh chips off… And I’m left to observe – in astonishment – how former vulnerability transforms into the cold shield of experience. Struggling through pain robs me of yesterday’s precious sensitivity – and I can’t see any longer: did I get stronger or am I just dead inside?
I’m suffering. Well, big surprise – who doesn’t? But how come it seems that I – unlike the many optimistically coupling and striving for closeness – through suffering lose the very ability to love?
Am I just dead inside?
Who killed me? And why?
Just found you blog while sending some mails for a film producer in Argentina.
I think that you’re one of the most alive people that I’ve read, so don’t be sad… keep on shining girl.
Thank you for your kind words, Pablo. It cheered me up a little…
Chin up love!
x
Looks like it’s time for you to get back into the saddle again. Start traveling. Start writing. Those of us stranded maybe found some comfort peering through the cracks in our walls out into the magical and exciting world you described. This here blog has been fun to read. And I never ever eva eva eva ever write comments on blogs or forums, but it kills me to think you’re down, so… Even though I don’t know you, I think I speak for many when I tell you that your writing actually meant a lot to me in a dark time. Seeing someone else living free, no matter for how short a time, is an inspiration, even if it is sometimes just a juvenile alcohol fueled right of passage to some. Your writing captures something beyond just this. Something meaningful. I kept readimg it because there was something good tand honest here. Girl, you have talent, so keep your chin up. Lets see some more words. “The lotus flower grows out of the mud, blah blah blah”-Markandeya. Pep talk over. That is all.
Thank you for the pep talk, Doit. I’m honored that for you – if not at all for many – my roaming and ranting was entertaining and even comforting. My trip – the trip I was writing about here – is officially over, but the truth is I still do wander a lot. Both literally and figuratively. So, you are right – it’s time to write. This lotus here hasn’t yet run out of mud…