Pity is a feeling I despise. I don’t want people to pity me, to feel bad for me. I don’t want to feel bad for people… but I do. So here I am, feeling raw, probably not a good time for writing. But sometimes beautiful things come from sincere feeling.
I think, right now I relate my feelings as to being shot, three times in the chest. I feel like I’ve got an open wound and it burning like fire. The first shot hit me straight in the heart. The second punctured a lung and the third was lodged in between my ribs.
I keep listening to the same three songs over, and over, and over. Fast Car (Tracy Chapman), Do You Remember (Jack Johnson) and For A Dancer (Jackson Browne). I don’t think I could feel more alone. I know I’ve got family, friends, everyone who wants to support me, support each other but I don’t want pity. I don’t want them to feel bad for me, for anyone. I want to heal on my own, no matter how deformed I come out of it. I know things will get better.
“Crying is the easy way out” (Jackson Browne, For a Dancer) and sometimes I wish I could cry… but I feel like my tears have been drained from my body. I want to drive away, in a fast car, I want the wind to whip my hair back, a chilling breeze in my face, my fingers to tingle with the thrill. I want my heart to race, to see a new light. It’s out there, I just have to find it.
I think I should make plans. Reach out, be free. Just a bit. Maybe.
on another note, George is a pro at nosework. Megan is healing, I should follow.
I miss my David, Kai and Uncle Joe…