Still Here

I'm still here. So are the shadows. They don't go away. Not without serious medicating, not an option for me.

I'm in an odd state.

I worry. There's a great joy happening here, in the cold, dark, isolated place that is my heart. A great good thing. Not my best good thing - that's my son. He knows it, too, because I tell him he's my best good thing. Something...someone...else has taken up residence, taken root, and seems to be flourishing.

But I worry. I can't recall if I've written this before, but...I don't really know how to do happy...how to be happy. It's...alien. I know sorrow. I know hurt. I know depressed. I know rejection.

I don't know what to do with love. Not the love of a child or parent - the love of an equal. The love of someone who has no reason to love, no familial bond, no obligation. Wow. That's...that's huge. And awfully sweet. Sweetness. Awesome...

And I worry, because I don't know how to just be happy. Don't get me wrong - I revel in each moment, wallow in it, soak it in, savor it. But in the background is the voice telling me I'll screw it up, something will go wrong, I'll go wrong...

It worries me. What have I done to deserve this great good thing?

I worry...not that I doubt him in some way, because oddly I don't. I say oddly because I doubt everyone. It's part of the sickness. I doubt my mother, and my dear friends, and everyone...but not him. This is odd. I doubt myself most of all though, and that's what worries me. What if I am not enough or too much?

Mark Twain said everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows anyone. Not entirely true. I show my darkness, here and in my life. I trust a few people enough to let them see.. He sees. So why am I worried? Because it's unrelenting, this darkness, and what if he comes to realize he wants no more of it...and I can't just put it away, you know? Can't just stuff it in a pocket or in the back of the closet and pretend it's not there. Even if I am too much or not enough, I have to be myself, honestly, openly, entirely me.

Which is worrisome. I don't often like me very much...so how can anyone else?? As for love...whew...let's not go there right now...not love for self, anyway. I don't know if I have it in me...

Still...there is this great joy, and I smile so much my face hurts, and even the fear can't make that go away. People notice, and remark, and tease, and it's fine, it's good. The shadows niggle at me, but they're no match for this great good thing...so they're looming in more ordinary ways, more manageable ways, until they can find an opening and tear me down, claw at me, rend...

Meanwhile, I'm still here, still muddling, still rising and falling, riding it out.

Still rambling aimlessly, pointlessly, endlessly...still here...