Awash In A Sea Called Misery (Pt. 1)

 I am tired of feeling sad. 

Really. I am tired of it. I have been a wreck for quite some time. I cannot for the life of me remember when overwhelming sadness started taking over my life. 

I can hear the jingly tones of the seeing-impaired crosswalk from my window, the steady Doppler effect of vehicle engines rising and falling. I sit in my home alone, much too warm without A/C, feeling so low. I haven't cried today but have felt on the verge of tears several times. Like a guy who dresses up as a bat clearly has issues, obviously so do I. 

The big ones revolve around death; the death of my father, the impending death of my dog (I imagine some time away still). I think of my fathers absence and I want to cry. Even writing that and I am misty. But this is the truth: I miss him. There's no shortage of moments in the day where I don't wish he was around. And he wasn't amazing, I can't sell you a false bill of goods here. He was just a man, as flawed and obstinate as any other. But he was my dad.

Now I am crying. 

I know, I know, everyone misses their loved ones. And it is natural to feel that wound reopen from time to time. But in losing my father I lost the one person I felt truly connected to, in whom I saw a reflection of myself. Someone else in the world like me. That feels so rare because I don't relate to other people. I don't see other people who look like me (probably a gift for the gene pool if I'm being honest), or speak like me. 

I mostly see potato shaped old people shuffling around looking for corn. Cob Gobblers I call them (patent pending).

So obviously I am lonely. Fucking hard to admit that. I never knew it. I was always so content to be by myself, from childhood right through the best years of my life. Sure I have had and still have friends and family but... I've erected roadblocks. I have isolated myself, pushed people away bit by bit. I am cold and aloof. My sister was right when she pointed that out years ago. Why didn't I take that to heart? 

Home was always welcoming, warm and loud.

And now? Quiet. The distant mutter of engines; people going about their lives: people going home, going here, there.

END OF PART 1

Authors Note: 

I am a writer working on something therapeutic so there is honesty here but also editing and dramatics for lack of a better term. Not every post is going to be sad, not every post will be biographical. They will be motivated by self-help or self-care.