The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

8/13/15

7:06AM

Authenticity

I’ve been pretty down now for weeks. Usually I get back up—one way or another—but this feels like a storm without breaks. 

To the point where I have begun to get worried. 

I’ve lost my joy; can’t find it any place in my life right now. 

And I flash back to being on that stretcher in the hospital back in May when I almost died and I wonder if part of me is still processing that. 

But who’s to say: there are so many culprits that could be causing this. 

The amnesia lifting, possibly, that’s been protecting what was a huge amount of depression long ago. 

Or maybe I have depression—period. And I should stop trying to find rationale and just medicate it. 

A

What do you think? 

S

I don’t know, honestly, what the issue is. 

A

What hurts most to think about?

S

Nearly everything seems to evoke sadness and grief. I usually can find something that I can look towards that grounds me, that makes me feel okay, that feels like home inside. 

A

There’s no place like this anymore inside?

S

It used to be here, in this house, something that just felt peaceful. But now I just feel sad, like this life of mine has no purpose or meaning. 

I know it’s internal because I have felt better under similar circumstances. 

A

Something in our circumstances has changed. 

S

It began, I think, with friends leaving. It’s been difficult in and of itself but it was also representative of something or maybe a lot of things that have been very painful. 

A

Keep going. 

S

Friends leaving the area, deeply rooted ones, probably like family. 

One friend leaving to pursue his dreams. 

And it brings up to me that I have no dreams. Or hope. 

I’ve hit a road block; one made of tears. 

One I just can’t ignore.

A

What would Teresa say?

S

That it’s the amnesia. That it’s really lifting and that this is painful. 

A

Are you lonely?

S

Yeah. I think I am, A. I am on a journey alone.

A

We have not been seen very much, not been heard much either. 

S

I was listening to this podcast and this poet was talking about the disappointments we have inlife, especially artistic ones. And he said something about despite the sadness of not being seen or heard that it is important to not stop seeing or hearing. 

Which is what I’ve been trying to do. 

To stay present and to be there for others despite feeling like in my day to day I am unable to share this extremely important work I’ve been doing. 

I seem unable to speak. 

I know it is my responsibility to find my voice. But I feel mute right now. Like there are no words presently. Just tears. 

And A, I don't know why. 

A

Allow, allow, allow. 

S

It is the leaving fish? Is it the fish that leave—and the ones that threaten to leave? Is it that everything and everyone leaves? Is it my own leaving? Me at the doorstep of leaving, on that stretcher, in that hospital, in that dimly lit hallway, nearly losing my life?

I lay there not in peace but rather capitulation, in the knowing there is nothing further I can do, that life moves on, the hustle and bustle going on around me, the talk of the NBA playoffs and weekend plans as my life seems to slip, slip, slip away. 

Oh A, how it hurts. 

A

Yes. 

S

When do I get some joy back? Not pure joy but just a few minutes of it? 

And where oh where is my hope?

A

It will come back, I promise. We need to see this through.