I looked back over what I had written related to my searches and my marriage and my wanting some connection to anyone. This is years old. Same denials, same words, same path. Where do I go that is different? Which trees, which tracks, which doors are new? None.
Only I am different.
Older? Wiser? More war torn? I keep trying and trying to find a way back from the pit. Where is that light? When I ask people to find me, to see me, do they? What is their capacity?
Have I imagined all of it?
I sit here now, typing on my phone, swimming in the sounds of the Bleachers, new and old, retro. Reaching back into my 80's psyche. Where is my father? Where is my heart? Where is my mother's courage, her truth? Why do I need her truth to match my own?
I feel as though I have accepted that my brother is lost to me. There is nothing more I can do. It does not even sting: it feels like it is happening to someone else, and I merely watch with compassion and a vague sense of sadness.
The most painful wound is that of being invisible. I feel as though I am speaking only to the air.