Vanishing
It's official. My dad is dead. This is crazy. I know it happened a little over a month ago but it's still not reality to me sometimes. So intangible. So strange. In the darkness of my room while I'm trying to fall asleep, sometimes I get flashes in my head of him during his last few days and then flashes of him dead in the casket at the wake. It's like my mind is still trying to connect the two. That person...my father...that I knew then, is suppose to be the person I saw at the funeral? How can that be? First he's breathing, and then he's not? So simple a concept, so hard to grasp. My mind can't yet wrap around this reality. It's like that line in The Business of Strangers..."it's like suddenly your whole life has changed, and no one's ever asked you." That's about as far as I have come to understanding this. Death is like menopause.
I feel unwanted. So empty. Not just because of my dad's passing...I just feel alone. Solitaire. Vacuous. I feel like there's this invisible layer of goo between me and the rest of the world. Am I the one encapsulated? Or am I the one left out? Feels like the latter. What is this barrier?!? I feel half-awake all the time. I feel a loneliness and a desperation and a pain the depths of which even I haven't begun to fathom. Maybe that's why I've chosen to smoke and drink my way into numbness, daily. It hurts too much to feel. I don't cry. Crying is a physical manifestation of something that seems so unnecessary for me because the intensity of my feelings is beyond tears. Beyond pain. Beyond anything I could have ever imagined as a child.
I have lost all faith. I have no faith in humanity. In friendship. In love. In companionship. In society. But yet, I'm still alive. But why? Why am I alive? I have no zest for, no appreciation for, no will to live...but yet, I live. I strongly believe that I'm not the only one who feels this way. I'd venture to say that at least a quarter of the world feels some form of this or another. So what is it? Why are we alive...really?? Is it the fear of death? The fear of the unknown? The fear of not being remembered? It's like a character said in the movie Equilibrium..."You live to further your existence? That doesn't make any sense." It's circular logic.
I feel pain
So visceral
Loneliness beyond physical
Like poison in my marrow, it eats
Like fiery rheumatism in my joints, this intolerable heat
Scorching like black fire through chasms in chest
Slowing the rhythmic heaving of this forsaken breast
Marking the death of my ill-gotten zest
My ill-gotten best struggling against the realism of eternal rest
I feel unwanted. So empty. Not just because of my dad's passing...I just feel alone. Solitaire. Vacuous. I feel like there's this invisible layer of goo between me and the rest of the world. Am I the one encapsulated? Or am I the one left out? Feels like the latter. What is this barrier?!? I feel half-awake all the time. I feel a loneliness and a desperation and a pain the depths of which even I haven't begun to fathom. Maybe that's why I've chosen to smoke and drink my way into numbness, daily. It hurts too much to feel. I don't cry. Crying is a physical manifestation of something that seems so unnecessary for me because the intensity of my feelings is beyond tears. Beyond pain. Beyond anything I could have ever imagined as a child.
I have lost all faith. I have no faith in humanity. In friendship. In love. In companionship. In society. But yet, I'm still alive. But why? Why am I alive? I have no zest for, no appreciation for, no will to live...but yet, I live. I strongly believe that I'm not the only one who feels this way. I'd venture to say that at least a quarter of the world feels some form of this or another. So what is it? Why are we alive...really?? Is it the fear of death? The fear of the unknown? The fear of not being remembered? It's like a character said in the movie Equilibrium..."You live to further your existence? That doesn't make any sense." It's circular logic.
I feel pain
So visceral
Loneliness beyond physical
Like poison in my marrow, it eats
Like fiery rheumatism in my joints, this intolerable heat
Scorching like black fire through chasms in chest
Slowing the rhythmic heaving of this forsaken breast
Marking the death of my ill-gotten zest
My ill-gotten best struggling against the realism of eternal rest