I have what I call my Shadow Blog--all the posts I never finish. Drafts and drafts of journaling there in my archives. Some slightly darker and more personal. This time, I hit Publish.
Nights are sleepless after long days.
My brain was cluttered before-- but now I've become absolutely paralyzed with thought. Tripping over words that don't quite make sentences before morphing into something I can't understand or remember.
On particularly difficult days, I feel as though I am waking from sleep talk. Semi conscious, I hear words leave my mouth, knowing they don't really make sense--not caring enough to amend them.
A few nights ago, I dreamt the most vivid dream.
Roger and I are on a subway, but I'm not sure where we are travelling. We get off and I ask him to wait for me at the entrance of an old, elegant building. I go inside where a doctor sits me down to talk. He expresses how sorry he is that he couldn't save our boys, but he needs to give me some other news. He says it will be difficult, but that I need to tell my family that Sheldon & Thomas are gone and he has diagnosed me with a broken heart. I only have a few weeks to live. My frustration with this life wells up as I bolt from the building. "I will not allow this. Damn it, I will raise Morris. We must run from this".--which we then fruitlessly attempt to do...
As a young boy and into adulthood, my father needed glasses. He was unaware of this fact until he recieved a physical to be in the Army. There he was at age 27, finally seeing individual leaves on the trees.
Here I am at 27. I couldn't see what I wasn't seeing. Didn't know how oblivious I was--how numb I was to the beauties around me, or the exquisite suffering. I lived life on a single plane with limited emotional range. My words are befuddled as things become more clear.
