Trying, trying

I'm not happy with much of anything I write these days but I'm throwing it out there anyway to try to work through to something decent. Bear with me through this slump, and let us all hope it ends soon.

I'm frustrated with myself right now and too much of that feeling is getting in the way of everything else, including any writing I'm doing. Life is pretty good these days, but I can't seem to help but feel depressed. Or melancholy, perhaps.

I'm tired of such weighty responsibility and I wish I could hand it off for awhile. I need a rest. Such earth-shattering decisions to be made with such constant demand. It's more than needing a few more hours of sleep. It's needing time to walk away from all of this. Where's vacation when you need it?

With all this frustration and chaos going on around me, I so desperately want to wrest control of something. I want to see the cause and effect. It's been years since the image of cutting/bleeding has been so prominent in my brain. I'm both ashamed and dismayed by this state, but shame and dismay won't make it go away. Quite the opposite, actually. They are driving me closer.

But I will not succumb. I will not give up on this grasp - tenuous that it may be - on reasonable, acceptable coping mechanisms.

Craft

I've begun to consider film-making as a hobby. Words don't seem to flow into pictures the way they once did for me:
I've neglected them too long.
Like an insecure lover they have taken my inattention to heart and hidden away their mystery and seduction.
In film-making I could recreate the images behind my eyes in some vain attempt to explain the words trapped in my head.

I went for ice cream, late, in the rain and stiff, cold breeze.
Stopped at a red light I blinked - it took seconds to close and then reopen my eyes.
The words are inadequate; I sat, staring blankly at the windshield, waiting patiently for the light to change, until my eyes closed in slow motion and had a nice long rest before finding the will to open again.
As if the long blink were not enough, the nearly constant stop action video played against my eyelids;
Addiction comes to me again and I yearn to watch blood flow up from the pale, soft flesh, until I can feel it burning away the chaos and unease.
Trapped in some poorly crafted script I reached for my ever present phone to reach out, but no one was available to take my call.

I am not unhappy but out of control. Or at least on the edge of letting go.
Again, the words seem benign -
The carefully balanced demands are skewing slightly and it seems a mere matter of time until balance is lost.
In the meantime, I've decided to try to lure the words back again. Film-making seems to distant a goal.

Long time, etc...

Dear One,

I know what you're thinking; even at this distance I can see
The accusatory, frustrated, angry look in your eyes.
I've been away.
Yes, for all this time, I've been away.
I can't say where; it isn't a secret. Or it is a secret I am keeping from myself.

Yesterday morning I woke to the enthused sound of birds - the spring is here announcement.
Winter passed by. Someone was busy snapping photographs all those dark months;
I am glad.
My memories are clouded by darkness and bitter winds.
I was hiding.
Yes, I know I've left you before like this and
Yes, again it truly was necessary.
But I've come around close enough to feel the aching loneliness.
I am full of sadness and remorse.

Around and around we move, following these steps we know so well;
A dance echoing through the years.
We move because we must: to stop is to die.
Yet, each fluttering carries the tinge of betrayal, the hint of hopelessness.
I make all the same promises I have made before, choosing to ignore the hollow ring in my voice.

Spring is here, the birds sing, and I choose to believe in the hope filled cry.
Hold my hand gently while we learn to live again,
Let us go for walks in the magic twilight hour and forgive.