A Spoon ful of Concrete (Alone)

I have been feeling very lonely and overwhelmed in recent weeks. I have lost count of how many times I have told myself to take a spoonful of concrete and harden the fuck up. It hasn’t worked. Not really. My cheery demeanour has largely been down to bravado and now its veneer is beginning to crack. I haven’t been myself for weeks. Arguably these dissociative feelings have not been without cause. The last month has exacted an inestimable toll upon me personally and professionally. I have been aware for some time that it has infested my writing, but now others are making the same observation.

I feel barren. My mind, heart and body have been splashed to the four winds. My mind still cannot compute the horrors it has seen, nor evaluate and compartmentalise the emotions it feels. My heart is a million miles away over the Pacific and my corporeal being is, somewhat begrudgingly, wherever it needs to be. How I wish to be reunited with at least one of them!

This fugue is crushing me. I know it. I haven’t felt like this in months. Not since the night with the ambulance on the hill.


I was browsing on Facebook in the early hours of Sunday morning. A friend tagged herself in some photos. It was her first update in months, so naturally I indulged. And I have never seen the shadow behind her eyes so dark: sad photographs in which true feelings were momentarily masked and ignored in the hope that it might create the illusion of brimming with happiness. I am not deceived.

I glanced down at the phone on the coffee table a few inches in front of me. I was half expecting it to ring (at 9 am Saturday CST) hoping beyond all hope, and half cursing that it hasn’t already. Keep that promise, please. For the time being it is the only thing I ask of you.

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B_stu.kay823
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