The Living Dead

September 17, 2017 § Leave a comment

A slow death
Is it less a death?
I feel lost, invisible.
I feel I’m drowning.

I wake up from nightmares
that stem from a stagnant life.
I see therapists who tell me
what I’m doing is worthwhile.
Why then, do I feel worthless?

When I’m homeward bound
I feel pieces of me materialise;
like tiles of a jigsaw puzzle
fading in on ‘PowerPoint’.
I ‘feel’ me;
I feel I exist,
I feel I matter,
And I feel I can make my life matter.

Here I am – stuck in a rut,
And I hear a soap dialogue
over and over again –
“The carousal never stops turning”
says a foreboding voice.

I read self-help books
that I thought were beneath me,
I watch videos that promise
transformation in 5 seconds,
I depend on music
to shut out thoughts and feelings.
I do these, to stay afloat
from the swirling current of depression.

I feel the despair of a life slipping by,
I feel the despair of risking a life alone,
I feel the despair of raising a child
When I feel I’m not enough.

Can I check out for just a few minutes?
Can I be visible somewhere?

I can all this and lay it at his door.
If that is true or not I will never know.
But if ‘that’ is a given,
I have to rise above.
Above the humdrum.
Above the fear.
Above the roles.
‘Re-invent’ as it is called
But who is the new me?
I want my old self back –
but she needed to be held;
She needs to go it alone now
And doesn’t know how.

 

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