Photo of me taken by Di Mackey. Do not cut, copy, paste, or steal.
Another day at home. Another day in the life. Another day.
There is nothing in the kitchen that's going to lessen the pain or fill the emptiness. Food is neither comfort nor cure. This is what I tell myself as I close the refrigerator and pantry doors, step back, wander into another room.
There is nothing in my inbox, on Facebook, or hiding in my blog stat counter that will help either. I stop clicking, refreshing, surfing. I turn the monitor off.
The bed, half slept in and half unmade, will be half empty again tonight--and tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and onward into the summer, again in the fall.
I tell myself it is not a half life. I tell myself it is a whole life. I ask myself if that is a half lie.
My whole life, I have tried to outrun the sadness that stalks me, but nothing I do will earn me a one-way ticket out of the darkness. I was born with a lifetime supply of roundtrip tickets. I go away, I come back. The darkness welcomes me home. The light pretends I'm never leaving.
Half happy. Half sad.
This is the balance board I stand on. This is my core work. This is what strengthens me and exhausts me and makes me who I am. This is my wobbly constant.
It is not my fault. It is my fate.
It is a half life.
It is a whole life.
It is the only life I have.
To accept. To appreciate. To live.