I hate that feeling when you don’t know what to do with yourself; when you’re alone, and there’s plenty to do, but you don’t do any of it because all of it seems foreign, like you just walked into a stranger’s life and know that it’s incumbent upon you to make a passing impersonation. It’s that feeling of wanting to flee, and damn near doing so. What to do…
Yours in Contemplation,
Kierkegaard
PS. I know that it has been a while since I’ve posted something substantive. I’m trying, I promise.
I am glad to see you back, although I wish you were in a happier state.
However, I understand you too well… some wounds seem to never heal and until they do, if ever, nothing makes sense.
I can only offer my sincere support and hope that remembering that others understand what you express so accurately can bring you some warmth when the loneliness becomes unbearable.
I thank you for sharing, K., your honest words make me feel less lonely!
Be well…
Hello Natalie,
Thank for your kind words. I always smile when I receive notes from you.
Sadly, the only shred of comfort that I take from writing comes from the thought that Samantha reads any of this. If she knows that I am paying my penance, perhaps some day there will be enough mercy and love in her heart to release me from the suffering I now endure.
Even more sadly, I don’t think she does. So I guess I’ll just keep writing while I anesthetize myself with whatever I can find, and while I try to be a confident wreck.
Here’s to hoping there’s something besides a tragic end to all of this.
Yours in Contemplation,
Kierkegaard