I did a free write and this is what came out.
Everything starts with I. It’s like there is nothing else to talk about but myself and the wind, the storm, the loss. So much loss. I don’t think I even care about when it will end or why, just that one day there will
be peace and there will be sunshine. There is no stopping it. I know that now there is nothing except the wind in my face and its strength is determined by some unknown weatherman who decides these things. Who decides these things? Not me, that’s for sure. There is a breeze or there is a gale or there is something between the two but there is no rest for the wind now, there is no rest for the wind. Sometimes I think that there is fire and the wind will spread it. The
wind will turn the flames bluer than they have ever been. And there will be snow. And there will be gusts, so much of a gust, and no guts, no guts left for me. Nothing left of me. Windswept, scooped up and carried away on a tail, on a sheet, in a sack, something taken in broad daylight – not in the dead of night.
That would be too easy. That would be something to be afraid of. This is not fear. This is terror. This is anxiety that nobody can see unless you point it out.
There is nothing now. There is nothing of me while this goes on. There is nothing left of me by the end. And when will the end be? Not when I say it has finished, not when anyone says it has finished. The end will come when there is no light left, when there are no parts to take, when there is only the bare minimum, only bones and a sack of flesh, just the necessities. There is nothing. All this nothing. There is nothing to say and everything to feel and I can’t do that anymore. I can’t feel that anymore.
Someone take it off me. Someone take it away. Someone come and release this tension. All I have are words and they mean nothing now. The only meaning is in my body and the hate it gives, the life it gives, the worry it gives. My body gives me so much and I give it nothing in return. Nothing good, nothing bad, just ignorance. All I can think of is how much we loathe each other and how sorry I am that this has happened. I can’t do enough to make it right. It’s not my fault and it is my responsibility at the same time, my burden.
There is something inside me all the time, something waiting in the alleyways of my blood, waiting in the hollows of my bones, waiting in
the crevices of my grey matter. I can’t find it to see properly. It’s
mysterious and it lurks. There is a place where it shows its face but I only catch a glimpse of it and I can’t take a photo and nobody else can see and I don’t know what it looks like but it is some kind of evil. It is some kind of evil. My body is some kind of evil and it tortures me like nothing else ever could and I can’t escape it because who can walk away from their own body?
Maybe when I am a ghost I will be able to find a way to catch it in a net, to catch this essence of myself and separate it from its human form, and then there will be divorce, not messy, straightforward and
done. It will be done. And then I can rest. But until then, there is only
temporary happiness. There is always fear. There is always anxiety. There is always the question of how long. And the answer is it never ends. It never ends. It never ends.