These are bad days. Friday was especially bad. I cried so hard, so so hard, because I am so scared. I understand my mother’s panic attacks now. All her real reasons to be afraid, multiplied by haunting regrets that clamored for her attention – a sum of worries that would not let her rest no matter how hard she ignored them. Laboring against the quicksand of powerlessness that comes with real age, how could her heart not try to fly out of her body, seeking someplace to actually rest? Fear and rage battling for her body’s attention – and nothing to do but keep going.
Last May was really bad, but I was only heartbroken and lonely. Now I am terrified for where I will be able to live. All I can do is gamble on myself, and try to carve out what I want from what I know will be not good choices.
I would never want anyone else to think their journey was all for nothing. If only for the sake of other people who share this same fear, and worse – I am reminding myself that there can be meaning, and relief in the future as yet unknown.