As I consider the New Year, I consider the typical responses.
A fresh start... a better year... putting to bed a bad year... this year will be better.
I have never seen a new year as anything. Perhaps an excuse to get drunk and maybe not alone. That is the extent.
A fresh start is a foreign body to me. To do that would be to erase the memories, the scars, the voices in my head, the shadow people in the corners of nearly every room I enter. All are impossible. Especially when there are many, many memories below the frozen surface of my mind. Frozen in time; so cold that it hurts.
A perpetual brain freeze. I wish for just one day without this pain.
No fresh start for me. What I can do though, is obsess over the how of my life. I have pretty much given up on the why. There is just no good answer there; at least not at this point.
How doesn't have to do with other people. It has to do with me. How the fuck did I survive?
There are a lot of awful childhood verses sung; a creepy uncle, a leering step-dad, a secret priest, an angry mother, a lost and groping sibling. Each verse different yet fraught with painful similarities and fragile coping.
And then there is me. And others like myself. I am shattered and still standing yet I have no idea how I got here or how I figured out that this was a life worth surviving.
How did I not give up?
How did I put one aching foot in front of the other, day after day? Night after night?
How did I barely sit down at breakfast each morning believing that our dance in the dark was a household brand?
How did they know just how far to go? Close enough to fearful pleasure. Far enough from impersonal death.
It is a precarious how.
“Shall I Crucify Your King?” #UNITE Linky
22 hours ago