Unanswered~

Well, the rain keeps on coming down
It feels like a flood in my head
And that road keeps on calling me
Screaming to everything lying ahead
And it's a winding road
I've been walking for a long time
I still don't know
Where it goes
And it's a long way home
I've been searching for a long time
I still have hope
I'm gonna find my way home

Bonnie Somerville~Winding Road

My hope is disappearing at such a rapid pace I can't hold on anymore. I don't even know if I have any left. I realized it's coming again; the whole thing is starting over and I don't know if I can stop it. There are faces I cannot show, things I'll never be able to say.

I've been unable to write anything with any depth for a long time. Every so often my writing becomes an addiction, a drug that holds all the power. It consumes every thought, every moment. I let it run its course because I have seen it help, seen good come from the constant thoughts. In those moments of nirvana I am on autopilot; my mind, my heart and my hands have their own connection, a place where trivial questions and answers are left unattended. A time and place where rational thinking doesn't even exist and my emotions are exposed. Raw, unique, passionate but acknowledged. It allows me to move on.

I can't write. It feels like months since I've been able to write anything with substance, anything even close to the catharsis I need to stay sane. This familiar weight has started dwelling on my shoulders again. I can use the labels, the words, but they won't describe the suffocating fear of a tragic undertaking. It's dark and horrifying, yet familiar. I've become a master at hiding behind the trivial things, focusing on mindless drama to take the edge off.

I haven't been able to write because I didn't want to see it. I remember how it happened before--the moments turning into days, the days turning into months. I hid behind things that were easy to talk about. But I've learned a lot since then. I see it coming. I recognize what's happening. The question becomes not if, but when? And I must decide if I want to stop it, or if I'd rather let it take me whole.