A Writer

A writer is a title I have claimed, but not one that I have earned. I’ve barely written a sentence until today. It’s been a long time. I just can’t seem to get words out of my head and onto the screen. It seems to be a real problem these days. It may be too, there is just a lack of words. When you get right down to it, life has a way of numbing your brain to the point that words are useless. Emotions are useless. Watching the fourth person die on hospice in my life can make a person numb. It seems that death in my latter years has followed me. I have lost four people very close to me and have a fifth one dying as we speak. What do you do with so much death? How do you begin to concentrate on something like writing?


Even as I write this I find myself getting lost in the shuffle of it all. I feel that I am uttering useless words that could be avoided. It’s almost as if I have lost my talent and my drive to write coherently. At least that’s the way it seems. It’s not depression or loss of interest. It’s life or I guess the lack of life. It’s all the death. It’s the way it smells. It’s the way it looks. It’s not being able to talk to those who meant so much to me and turn to them when I need them the most. Everyone has left me. I took care of everyone and I am left with no one to take care of me. Bitterness and sadness get all mixed up and confused. I’m not angry, but I do wish they were still here to take care of me.


I face my own health issues and even I may have to stare death in the face. I have my partner in crime, but I don’t want him to have to experience everything I have. I don’t want him to have to care for me. I don’t want him to have to wait on me hand and foot. I don’t want any of it. It’s as if I almost wish that all those I took care of could come back and take care of me. Then maybe I would feel some sort of gratitude I didn’t feel when they were still here. That isn’t possible though. It shouldn’t be left up to him. My children shouldn’t have to see it. No one should have to endure what I have already endured. I guess I should just hope for the best. Get these cysts out of me and there be no talk of any cancer. That is my hope.


Write. Well, I guess I did a little bit, but it was just enough to get a few things off my chest. My disability hearing is soon and I dread that too. I know I am disabled, but accepting the fact that I’m disabled is quite another story. My outside appearance shows that I am just fine. My brain says I am not. I think I forgot my meds again last night. It’s a battle. I may never be the writer or person I wanted to be. Just live through this day. That’s all I can do. That is my life now. Big plans do not for once enter the picture. Dreams of old are gone and no new dreams have formed in their wake. I guess I will see what time has in store for me.

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