Thinking about things makes them real.
Thinking about things gives them power.
Thinking about things means they don’t go away.
The darkness is there. It’s just out of the corner of my eye. It’s not in focus, it’s not dominant, but I know it’s there, convincing me that contentment is fleeting.
Lapping at my feet.
I’m fed up with people. I want to be on my own, with no expectations, no need to be civil. I want to stay in bed and sleep for weeks on end.
I want to light the fire and stay beside it until the spring.
I know that these strategies would be profoundly counterproductive. Wallowing is not helpful, but sometimes it’s the only thing.
I will continue to read and spend time by the sea. I will walk more.
I will talk about it.
Talking puts things in perspective.
Talking means I have to deal with it.