Adrift

What would “I” be without the others?

As they joined me, I grew. With every departure I was reduced.

There are happy pictures, and there are the images of damage, loss. Reminders of pain, which comes back with an intensity that does not reduce with time. I could try and forget them, throw them away as it were. But the thing is that were I to remove every potential reminder of pain, I would have to be gone too.

For was I not the sharpest knife in my guts?

And I am not ready to begone. Not yet. Not until I know.

What was it that made me twist that knife so? What makes me do it periodically, even now? Some genetic trait, or my own choices? Can I stop? Or is there a pattern that I must accept as the blueprint of my life? Which was written for me, irrevocably as it were?

Although I have been more fortunate than many I know, I have done wonderful things; and yet my mind often seems to get clogged with the rotten-ness of ordinary life.

With the effort required for bare survival, I cannot say that life is easy. But there is a sense of victory in having survived the day. In going to bed safe.

Winning has been an important part of my life- almost an intrinsic one. And to win, it is important to get things right. Mistakes add to work. They are a drain on the limited resources.

But knowing right from wrong is not easy.

I consciously choose to live. Every day.

Not because life is worth it. But death is an unknown.

And what do I have to hold as mine, but the exhilaration - of the here and now. I don't trust anyone except myself to take care of me, because I am not sure I can take care of anyone.