Monday, June 30, 2008


My mortality lies heavy on my shoulders, weighing me down, clinging gleefully to my bowed spine, fingers tipped with the broken detritus of youth and dreams, gouging and digging for the last vestiges of hope.

Tomorrow will come despite my denial, yet another day in a dreary line of broken promises that stretch behind me in a winding grey trail of things that were not. I dread the dawning of the morning and do not look forward to the flaming orb of sun that proclaims the triumph of time and ticking away of my mortality.

As I face the reality of another year, I cannot find it in me to find the prospect enlightening or pregnant with possibility; rather, despair envelops me as i contemplate yet another dreary day bleeding into the fabric of my life.

52 years!

I stand appalled at the sheer volume of moments and seconds and days and years that have etched on this tired body the vicissitudes of a life half lived. I search within myself for that small glimmer of hope, that moment of truth that gives this life some modicum of meaning.

I am often surprised to listen to the vivid memories that others often have of their youth. I had a good youth - at least I think so - parents who loved me, a houseful of siblings, lots of travels and adventures. Yet, memories are scarce and like a half-finished sketch, have no depth or detail.

I remember certain things.

A silly conceit, but it as if my life began when I first met him, for memories from then are rich and vibrant and resonate down the many years with a freshness that sometimes delights, and other times stings ...

The first time I made love. The room close and stuffy, television sounds trickling and droning on the other side of the wall, his body, hard and thin and so eager ... the feel of him, hot, throbbing and the way my mind flamed with excitement and need and want and the look on his face when the realization of my first time dawned....

I remember him walking me home that hot summer night with the fireflies winking in the velvet dark and the stars blazing and my legs, like a colt's, trembling, my thighs sticky and smeared with the reality of our passion and how breathless, how utterly wonderful it all seemed and the night danced around me and enveloped my new body in its warm, dark embrace and I was joyous ...

I remember many wonderful moments on my 8 month backpack journey to Europe - seeing the Acropolis for the first time.... the deep aqua blue-green of the Greek sea.... how the pristine, sanitized camp at Dachau was so utterly ominous and pressed around us as if the voices and spirits of the murdered called out for vengence all these years later. i remember the quirky, wonderful canals of Amsterdam, and the incredibly breathtaking beauty of the walled city of Florence with its bronze boar in the middle of the marketplace, his nose striking gold in the sunlight which spilled down from the hot blue of an Italian sky...

I remember the fluttering of the first signs of life in my belly and the absolute awe with which i greeted the birth of each child.

What i do not remember is when i began to loathe and detest the anniversary of my birth. It was a very long time ago --- so unrelated to age - as i rack my mind, I think and what comes to mind is a 21st birthday party, a momentous and important birthday for an Irish lass - and he was not there ....

All I know is that the pit opens as the day approaches and I dread it with a superstitious, dragging despair which overwhelms me with anxiety. I want to hide away and blink and open my eyes to find the day gone and though time still marks the minute moments of my life away, i can face it again with equanimity and a reluctant acceptance of its implacable march.

And i do remember despair and betrayal and hatred and yet through it all, I loved and love.

Despite the gloom and doom which descends on me, I know I would be with no one else except him; that even as i fight the demons that seek to drown me in pessimism and despair, I seek enlightenment in the one constant in my life- my love for him. That one true emotion, no matter the battles we fought, the hurts we inflicted, that love, remains constant and true and I grasp at the possibility of hope it holds out to me....

Tomorrow i work, as i do most statutory holidays and always, if I can manage it, on this day.


Buffalo said...

If you are going to write about feeling miserable you need to find a different voice. It is difficult to work up a modicum of empathy when the misery is described so eloquently.

Isn't it odd that we deal well with the huge problems in life, but the small ones seem to kick our ass so well?

You are intelligent, you are talented, you are beautiful and you are just now reaching your maturity. The next portion of your life holds the possibility of being the best of your life - unless you deem it otherwise.

The gifts are all around you. You just need to reach out and pluck them off the tree.

selkie said...

grins... you're right, Buff! I know that - and just whinging ... I am aware that there are many wonderful things in my life too!

but you're right about the "small" things. The buggers seem to pile up until they feel like they're smothering you!

Its a beautiful day today, no humidity, sun is shining and oh, right, I have to work LOL - but not early! I'm here drinking tea with my bath running and its 6:39!! SO late lol