Don’t go back and read your old blogs. It’s really depressing. How often I say the same things over and over again. I mean, really.
I mean, fine, I am obsessed with making fun of therapists and convincing the world that going to therapy is stupid and I seem only to be able to do this by going to therapy and writing about it. But, it is repetitive. And I seem to brag about myself a lot. Especially in comparison.
But the sad is…I probably can only say that I miss Don and I miss him and I miss him and the why I miss him doesn’t change and there aren’t really words for this anyhow. Or these words:
There is a keyhole that hovers over
my right shoulder. Behind it a wind hisses
and sighs. Behind it the world is dark cloud and
sheets of fog that roil up against the sky as if
to erase it. I can feel you, sucked up through
that hole, sucked past the dark, I can feel
you gone. I can feel the you in the place you
used to be, I can feel your voice that does not
answer and I can feel you loving me, I can feel
this body of mine, this beating, this rupture, I can
feel when I don’t want to feel and the sleep that
does not come and I hope you are meeting yourself
as if for the first time, I hope you are discovering
whatever lost thing you left this world to find.