howeverbrief (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
howeverbrief) wrote2018-09-11 11:30 am
howeverbrief) wrote2018-09-11 11:30 am
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Closed
I took another walk this morning. Since the usual walking path I use has been closed for repairs for a while, I attempted to go to a different path I know of but usually don't take because it's a long way. Once I got there, I found a sign as well as a construction crew saying it was being repaired too.
Me being me, as I trudged through the sand on the side of the road instead, I couldn't help but see parallels and metaphors of this in my own life.
It seems like everywhere I turn, the familiar paths, the easy ways through and around things, are closing for whatever reason. I don't know if they'll reopen or if this is permanent. I can't see beyond the horizon. I don't know what's in store or even what it is I have to feel strongly about anymore. No one really knows the depths of this, nor do I know the cavernous losses of others. Such is only relation at this point, misplaced empathy and good intentions. Advice that falls on deaf ears.
It's hard not to compare our situation to others around us, those who seem to have really simple, straightforward things that I can't seem to grasp. Everywhere I turn, it looks like someone else is having a problem-free carriage, and I'm here stuck wondering what makes us different. I know appearances aren't always what they seem, but it's difficult not to ask those questions. I end up contemplating whether I was right to fear having children in my twenties, though I did so for entirely different reasons. I question the wisdom of continuing to try when all of it seems so far out of reach, getting further and further away each time. I wring my hands over yet another loss and think about how we're both partially at the end of the line.
I hear people around us saying to be happy with what you have, over and over again like it will help. I look around at our life, and of course it is satisfactory. I think ahead of what we can do with our lives now that our time will no longer be filled with thoughts of you. I place my hand on my now shrinking belly, as I have so many times in the past month, but I no longer speak. I feel empty and alone.
Me being me, as I trudged through the sand on the side of the road instead, I couldn't help but see parallels and metaphors of this in my own life.
It seems like everywhere I turn, the familiar paths, the easy ways through and around things, are closing for whatever reason. I don't know if they'll reopen or if this is permanent. I can't see beyond the horizon. I don't know what's in store or even what it is I have to feel strongly about anymore. No one really knows the depths of this, nor do I know the cavernous losses of others. Such is only relation at this point, misplaced empathy and good intentions. Advice that falls on deaf ears.
It's hard not to compare our situation to others around us, those who seem to have really simple, straightforward things that I can't seem to grasp. Everywhere I turn, it looks like someone else is having a problem-free carriage, and I'm here stuck wondering what makes us different. I know appearances aren't always what they seem, but it's difficult not to ask those questions. I end up contemplating whether I was right to fear having children in my twenties, though I did so for entirely different reasons. I question the wisdom of continuing to try when all of it seems so far out of reach, getting further and further away each time. I wring my hands over yet another loss and think about how we're both partially at the end of the line.
I hear people around us saying to be happy with what you have, over and over again like it will help. I look around at our life, and of course it is satisfactory. I think ahead of what we can do with our lives now that our time will no longer be filled with thoughts of you. I place my hand on my now shrinking belly, as I have so many times in the past month, but I no longer speak. I feel empty and alone.