Skip to main content

Photophobic

I have been avoiding the light, hiding from life, wishing for a cool quiet oasis in which to ride out the storm of pain and loss that has been raging outside.

So far, October can go to hell.
Or maybe it has already.
My family has
We-
We have been dealing with real things, impossibly difficult things, scary and crushing and heartbreaking things.
Real things, not these imagined and half remembered things that I write about here and adapt for my fiction, no, genuinely terrible events, life changing big and I have found myself unable to process these things in a meaningful way.

It has been all too real for me, too serious, too much.

I am a fake adult, understand?  I am not equipped to deal with adult things.  I wear the uniform, but I never want to actually play in the game.
And for most of this stuff I am only a peripheral player, a side note, but my head and heart have been filled with worry and terrible grief for the people I love, and I find myself wide open emotionally where the smallest thing can send me spiraling. All work has ceased, I haven't written, haven't edited, haven't submitted, haven't blogged, I have been attempting to keep my hand in various outlets with a couple of tweets here and there, or a Facebook post or two, but I have been struggling to see the importance of these things, and the face I present to the world is a plastic mask, locked in a rigid and unchanging smile, and people can look and say yep, that's the guy I know, good old him, and I want more than anything to hide and avoid and burrow into the sand until the storm has passed.

Photophobia is a symptom, indicative of a larger issue, an indicator of a deeper pain.

I hide when things get too bright, I slink away into the shadows, bury myself under the blankets,close the blackout curtains, lock the doors and turn off the heat.
I am a dissected frog, pinned under chemical lights, taken apart, inspected, flayed open for the learning of others.
I squint and hide from the light, I bury myself
I wish for a different world, one in which parents do not outlive their children,
Where sickness and pain-
Where-

This is nothing, really, just an attempt to explain myself, to say that I'm sorry that I took so long to call, I'm sorry that I am not there, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Time passes, and things revert to something that looks a lot like normal.  And we will eventually all be Ok, or something that looks a lot like Ok.

Yesterday, I stood and watched my son play flag football, and the sun was warm on my back, and the dry rich smell of fallen leaves filled my lungs, and I looked at the sidelines filled with parents and proud families, and I knew that we would endure, that even this will pass, and for the first time in weeks I knew that I would emerge and eventually step back into the light.  Even this, this disjointed and incomplete ramble, this is progress. 

And the people to whom this might mean anything may never read it, and the people that read it will probably misunderstand my intentions here, and that is just going to have to be Ok too, because I don't know what this is about, don't know my own intentions, I just know I don't want to hide from the light anymore. 

Still Writing,

RP

10-19-15

Comments

  1. Love you! I think things seem so bad when you are so far away.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

One of the Best of Us

In the stifling heat my breath comes fast and heavy. What the fuck am I even doing here? What the fuck am I trying to accomplish? I'm sitting on the mat, maybe dying, a forty something dad playacting at being a fighter. This is my mid-life crisis, this is so, so stupid. This has to be the end for me, assuming I can get my heartbeat under control, assuming I don't just peg out here on the mat.  I can't do this anymore. "It's okay man, it's okay, you just need to breathe through it. You're fine, you're okay." The voice of my training partner, gentle and kind. My partner, the maniac that drove me to such a state, that I think I might die, he sits next to me and shows me how to breathe, how to calm my body. He teaches and guides me through it, and in a few minutes I actually am okay, the panic settles down, and maybe this isn't my last class after all. "You're alright?  Okay. Now lets get back to work."  And back to work we go. There

The Dance of the Sand Hill Crane

 It is Saturday morning in Feburary and here in Michigan it is clear and cold.  The sun has risen a while ago but there are still streaks of red in the sky, lighting up the clouds, high and wispy.  I am standing by my car after completing some chore, cleaning something or retrieving something and I am slow breathing, trying to calm my heart. It has been a difficult week. My son has a fight tonight, full contact MMA, his first, and I am full of conflict and anxiety about it. Not because I don't believe he will do well, because I know he is as prepared as anyone can be for such a thing, but because I am a father and I feel like I should be protecting him from the violence of the world. Even though he turns nineteen in a few weeks and is stronger both physically and mentally than I could ever hope to be, he is still my boy, and I am scared for him. My other son is fifteen and this week was embroiled in some stupid conflict at school, a misunderstanding that had led to meetings with th

A Soap Bubble Nothing

I built a table, out of wood.  I made a thing that wasn't there before.  I cut and sanded the wood, I drilled in screws, and now we have a table where we didn't have one before. It is real and solid and you can touch it, you can feel where I cut poorly, see the rough edges where I didn't join the wood correctly, you can lift it, feel its weight.  It is a real thing that I made.  I made a table. This is not a table, this is a nothing, a series of random thoughts that I had in the shower, which is where thoughts come from. What if our souls are soap bubbles, what if we spread ourselves too thin, stretched out and flattened? What happens when it pops, would you even notice, would you even care? What if we are meant for something more? I am already behind schedule this year I've got work to do, I have things to accomplish, friends ask me questions ask for favors and all I say is yes yes yes and- What is this?  What am I hoping to do here writhing I meant to write "writ