When the wind starts getting colder

With the fall wind blowing, my mind is getting tossed around. My husband told me that it’s just the seasonal change and that this is a pattern for me. I didn’t believe him so he told me to read through my old blog posts. Reading my blog was like reaching in and re-living my own past. It was surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly) painful.

I want to cry with pity for myself. I want to give that scared hurting me a big hug. But she would probably cringe and push me away because she hadn’t learned yet that hugs could be comforting. I want to tell her that she’s not alone, that I’m here for her. But it’s not true. She is terribly alone, lost in her mind and alone with herself. Even I couldn’t really help.

Today, I find comfort in hugs. And I feel less alone- most of the time. But no matter how hard they try and how tightly they hug, I will eventually, (and I’m scared this time) be completely alone with the enemies inside my head. I know that it’s coming. But I don’t know when or how hard it will hit. I’m scared of sliding down.

I’ve changed so much, and also not at all.  I’m very grateful (dead) that I wrote. Especially since I have a really hard time remembering my feelings once they have passed. Also, my hair is turning grey and falling out – but that’s not exactly relevant right now.

My husband tells me that I should write more often. But sometimes it just…seeems…so…pointless. I don’t want to annoy all of my blog followers and friends with more narcisstistic musings. I should wait until I have something really interesting to say. But nothing I can think of seems terribly original or interesting.

I had a thought recently that the goal of art is to let/make us see Ourselves. My writing forces me to accept that I felt that, thought that, did that and survived. My writing shows me myself.

So…I guess I am not really writing for others to understand me, I’m writing to understand myself. So that I can read my words and finally be able to see myself.

I am writing so that my words can be own my memories.

Keep on truckin’

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