Closure
There are things I will no longer write about because I've done a tremendous amount of work to understand and clean up those messes. I'm glad to be done with them. There will still be trickles of these themes from time to time, I'm sure, but the bulk of the work has been done. Barring a full-scale backslide or another round of introspection, I can safely say they have been put away for good. Those fires have been put out. I walk through a charred landscape, but my life is no longer in danger.
This is post number 149. I started this blog in late January 2018. My writing has always been about understanding emotional turmoil. The turmoil I've dealt with through my blog included my divorce, falling in love with a woman during my separation, the end of that relationship, and subsequently picking up the pieces of those events. While I was tunneling through these themes, other themes kept coming up, so I had to deal with those as well. Those included the ghosts of my childhood and the abuse I endured. Our neurons are connected in ways we don't understand, so I had to unravel riddles I never conceived existed.
As I write this (surely long before I actually post it), it's almost five in the morning and I've had only one and a half hours of sleep. I've been unwell for weeks, and now I am truly unwell. My feet are shod in blisters that make it painful to even gingerly walk. The blisters have spread to my hands as well, making typing painful. I've itched all over all night long, lain awake with only my thoughts and the creaking of the ceiling as the upstairs neighbors wiled away the night. And, even though I had many troubling thoughts, none of them scared me. There was no new dragon to be slayed, no new secrets to uncover. I felt at home with my thoughts once again, even though my body was tormented by sickness. Things felt as they should have. I've learned that 99% of life is out of my control, and it's futile to address things I have no power to change. I have enough to do just keeping my head on my shoulders. And my bathroom clean. I do okay with one of those things. I won't say which.
When I moved here four and a half years ago, I stopped writing in my blog (called random acts of violence), as I felt I was in the clear. I had been given a second chance at life, and I was going to live it. This was it — our chance at last to have a real life together, just the two of us, and another one on the way! How exciting, how perfect! Oh, how wrong I was. I was thrown into the cage with the tiger. That's how that ended. For interested readers, that blog can be found here: http://6poh.blogspot.com
My old blog ran five years and included many themes. I wrote in poetry (or lyrical form) what I was feeling. A lot of it seems like code. I can't read it. I get claustrophobic and panic because it's full of triggers. So, hey, enjoy!
Seriously, though, my blood, sweat, and tears are in that blog. Those were prolific years for me, and I daringly wrote about many things that troubled me with abandon. I am one of those people who will walk through fire to find the truth. I'll go without what I want in order to get what I need, and, often, what I need is answers.
That last sentence tells me I'll continue to blog because the truth doesn't wait for you or me. It must be chased relentlessly. If anyone is actually reading this blog, accept my heartfelt thank you. I write for myself, and I write for you.
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