I am creating this post is to announce a slight shift in the focus and overall purposes of this blog. I had originally intended it to be a general narrative detailing the various random iterations which must, of necessity, be expelled from my brain in order to avoid feeling irrelevant. The focus is now shifting to one of survival.
To be candid, I’m going to start using this blog to give voice to some emotional processing that needs to happen so that I don’t end up killing myself. I know, I know. “That’s lame, you can’t do that, people need you, that’s the coward’s way out.” Please do me a favor and take a moment to flip yourself off for me. If you are physically capable, you may also punch yourself in the face for me. Thanks.
Three weeks ago, my wife of fifteen years left me. I feel like I’ve been skinned alive and dipped in vinegar and left alone in a cave to die. Except I’m not really physically dying, so I can’t actually die. It won’t end. It just keeps happening forever, this feeling.
Every morning, as I wake up, the realization of what has happened comes over me. Sometimes it happens gradually, trickling in through a slow leak in my consciousness. Sometimes it rushes in like a flood. It always feels the same, though. Unimaginable, indescribable pain. This is the kind of sensation that people jump off buildings and bridges to avoid.