February starts tomorrow, and I would just assume skip the month.
As of last year,February became my least favorite month of the year.
Nothing personal, I happen to like February-I actually like Valentine's Day and all the cute decor and tradition.
I like to think of February as a month to celebrate love.
My second child was born in February.
But last February pretty much killed me, over the course of a few weeks.
It was like being in the center of a bad dream, and there was no waking up.
But when February ended, my death in a way was just beginning and seemed to continue on and off, for months, well as I write this, I realize one year, one year of dying.
One year of mourning me.
Not in a "woe is me" kind of way.
But just the clear cut reality of what really is.
I realized the only way I can escape the sadness that descends upon me, is to throw myself in wonderful fantasies, of new love and weddings, and music, and art, and reading and anything that wisks me away to another dimension beyond the here and now in my head.
It is like this dance I am in with myself.
I forget sometimes and stop dancing, and then slowly the band stops playing, and I am just alone on the sidelines with no one to ask me to dance.
And all the fears rise up again and I have my fear that no one will ever love me again, someone that I want to love, and I will have to vanish from my life in order to reclaim any crumb that is left of it.
This is where I live these days, in between worlds.
Mostly I just create a new day everyday and find it exhausting at times.
I cannot stop and look too long at the destruction my life fell into last February, because it only consumes me.
There is no good that comes from looking too long.
As of last year,February became my least favorite month of the year.
Nothing personal, I happen to like February-I actually like Valentine's Day and all the cute decor and tradition.
I like to think of February as a month to celebrate love.
My second child was born in February.
But last February pretty much killed me, over the course of a few weeks.
It was like being in the center of a bad dream, and there was no waking up.
But when February ended, my death in a way was just beginning and seemed to continue on and off, for months, well as I write this, I realize one year, one year of dying.
One year of mourning me.
Not in a "woe is me" kind of way.
But just the clear cut reality of what really is.
I realized the only way I can escape the sadness that descends upon me, is to throw myself in wonderful fantasies, of new love and weddings, and music, and art, and reading and anything that wisks me away to another dimension beyond the here and now in my head.
It is like this dance I am in with myself.
I forget sometimes and stop dancing, and then slowly the band stops playing, and I am just alone on the sidelines with no one to ask me to dance.
And all the fears rise up again and I have my fear that no one will ever love me again, someone that I want to love, and I will have to vanish from my life in order to reclaim any crumb that is left of it.
This is where I live these days, in between worlds.
Mostly I just create a new day everyday and find it exhausting at times.
I cannot stop and look too long at the destruction my life fell into last February, because it only consumes me.
There is no good that comes from looking too long.
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