Sunday, June 13, 2010
Tired
I feel so tired. I'm tired of life. I'm tired of waking up every morning, feeling overwhelmed as soon as I open my eyes by the prospect of facing the day without you. Seconds turn into minutes...minutes turn into hours...hours turn into days...days turn into weeks...weeks turn into months...and these long months will turn into even longer years. And it all happens slowly. So...very...slowly. I feel myself drowning sometimes. I can no longer see the surface of the water; I am in the dark depths of the ocean. The pressure of the water bears down on me, my lungs feel as if they will burst, I have no oxygen, I am suffocating. I feel myself sinking to the bottom willingly, not wanting to fight this losing battle anymore, for it is impossible to get to the surface now. The ocean floor is where I will dwell.
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The writer in me wants to say this: I love the metaphor of the ocean for your pain. I love that you're "showing" us more of the story rather than "telling" us the story. I really like the depth and texture of the imagery, because it conveys both despair and survival (even if you're not seeing it, your writerly mind wrote it). You do not die in the vision, but rather dwell...live...yet in some strangled, suffocated way and in some strange and dark place. This passage captures for me, the reader, a sense that you're alive, but struggling and sometimes losing, and maybe dying. It especially resonates -- a place without air, lungs bursting -- given the boys' death.
ReplyDeleteThe sister in me wants to send you a lifeboat complete with a team of crackerjack divers and a lifetime's worth of oxygen.
Hi K,
ReplyDeleteI really appreciate your feedback for my writing. I just may end up writing a book or memoir someday.
Your words of being my sister means even more to me.
Love you,
a
xoxo
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