I had a friend. I did not want to miss him. There are many people who I don’t believe deserve my thoughts and “missings”. Deserve, I say, as if I decide the importance of anything or anyone other than me.
Cycles and change and the same changes in different lights flowing always ever in a circle. Yet I am constantly both surprised and vindicated in already knowing the future. It is not often I am blind sided but I so always want to be wrong.
They hurt me, so I should not miss them. Too simple a thought, with no room for the fragments of many truths. Where they were in my lives will forever be empty and I must grow around it. Through it, into it, screaming.
I wanted to talk to my father today. I don’t know what I would have said, perhaps I figured the words would just come spilling out. But it is as if he doesn’t exist any longer, and I suppose in my life he doesn’t. The emptiness of space is haunting and reminds me of death. Cycles, rebirth, hope. But first the loss.
I have done the fair thing, the best thing for me, the hard thing. Yet the holes are wrong and no one should ever leave for any reason because I want to trust that I won’t be abandoned, and I do not know how long I can keep lying about it if people keep going away. Childhood emotional trauma really rips out the code of the healthy brain and eat it, doesn’t it? It really disintegrates your brightness, leaves you with the broken light bulb as a reminder of the disconnect.
But it is not the people’s fault that they must leave, in fact, a lot of them are gone because I told them to leave. Decisions I do not regret, but ache to rearrange the letters of. I could call right now, I wonder. I could talk, and maybe…they won’t answer, they won’t talk, it won’t fix anything. Or maybe they would answer, they would talk, and it would fix something. How am I to know unless I do it? I do not want to seem foolish, so I don’t dial the numbers. My soul shoots out signals to be received by my father, ones that I used to believe would be answered supernaturally no matter what at any cost, for them only to go unanswered. Maybe if I shriek loudly into my whole being something will happen.
I also have to remember that if some of these people wanted me in their life, they would have come to me by now. The silence makes me nauseous. So does my inaction. I do not know the right choice, in a sea of choices that do not have morals attached. There is no ethics to these choices, the universe will not punish me for picking. It will morph, as I have, to the new outcomes.
But I have never liked change. Circles, cycles, it’s almost 3 am and I’m sober and I still want to call the little girl I was and tell her I’ll fix everything.
A Witch's Nest 