Posted by: scintillatingspeck | December 26, 2012


I don’t know how to write this.  I don’t have even a half-baked idea of how to write this.  I’m not trying to write something beautiful or thought-provoking or moving right now.  Screw it.  I’m writing the way a drowning woman thrashes around violently in a lake, in desperation.

I thought I was doing okay, today, relatively speaking.  Not great.  But I had a long, mostly silent drive that was fairly calm, and some ideas and even inspirations to keep me company.  Then, upon arriving home, I saw a poem that tore my guts out and left me a bleeding, weeping, raging mess.

I’m not sure I can stand writing any more.  Or reading.  I don’t think I can stand the projectile force of words, hitting my skin like rubber bullets, leaving welts and bruises all over me.  I don’t think I can stand the continuation of breath in and out of my lungs, unbearable thoughts in my head, unendurable pain in my heart.

I can’t live like this.  Something has to give.  Every time I think I’ve let go of more, and more, some new horrifying demand arises, to let go still more.  What more can I let go of?  My sanity?  My stability?  My sense of who I am and what I’m doing?  Gone, gone, and gone.  Is it time to let go of being alive?




  1. But what else is there, Jen? All that life, so much to love,notwithstanding and nevertheless. You go on living, darling, because it’s the only way to show your gratitude. And you can’t *help* but be grateful. Can you feel it, deep down?

  2. there is forgiveness too. Gratitude is attractive. Forgiveness releases. Both are necessary. Peace. Thank you for your writing. Can you send the poem? You describe a shamanic death. Don’t confuse, as Derrick Jensen warns, the metaphorical death – the death of the stories that have failed us – that we all want, with real death! Also, dark chocolate helps.

  3. I am sitting with you, Jen, holding you while you cry and sob and scream. No lectures, no words of inane advice. Just as much comfort as my arms and heart can give. Time to go in for a while….

    “Sometimes the best map will not guide you
    You can’t see what’s round the bend
    Sometimes the road leads through dark places
    Sometimes the darkness is your friend…”

  4. ah, this is why i’m back on meds. which isn’t helpful to you. i’m not saying go on them! but you give me a glimpse into the world i’m avoiding.

  5. […] Which leads me to Jamey’s comment, in which he acknowledges that he doesn’t understand how I’ve managed to feel so good.  How have I done it?  Have I stumbled across some magical elixir?  Can I share the recipe?  I’ll confess, there’s been no “managing” involved.  What I did was lay myself wide open, vulnerable, reaching tendrils of love-vines out in all directions, reaching blindly for hands that were not guaranteed to be there.  I had to allow myself to be a madwoman.  I had to disassemble my concept of Self, of Identity, and start realizing that there is no separation between any of us.  I had to delve into the willingness to bear witness, and be witnessed.  None of this was with an eye toward feeling “good.”  There were times that felt unendurable. […]

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