Death & Writer's Block

There is a restless ache inside of me.  The intensity varies, but the feeling is always present.  When I am busy & distracted enough, I'm able to keep it somewhat at bay--small and muted, suppressed.  But more often than not the feeling wells up into something large & uncontainable.  But contain it I must, because it's not the sort of thing that can be squelched or doused or smothered or extinguished by any method.  It's mine.  I've created it and I carry it with me.  When I examine the feeling, it is clear that the feeling is fear.  And while I wrestle with countless anxieties, when I take the time to trace the fear back to its source, the common thread of every last worry I have is death. 

Right at this moment, I am forcing myself to write.  It is one of the last things I want to do right now, & if I'm being entirely honest, ever.  I'm always glad that I've written after I have done it.  There is catharsis there, & at times, a sense of pride or satisfaction at having articulated something particularly challenging.  But for me there is dread at discovering that I have nothing worthwhile to say.  That none of my thoughts, feelings, or experiences are particularly profound or interesting.  And if that is the case, what do I have to offer this tender, precarious, precious life?  The age-old question: Why am I here?

And looming even larger is the terror of confronting the dark & the painful.  Writing is an exercise in controlled suffering much of the time.  I want to tell it all & to tell it authentically.  To give voice to everything I see that deserves attention.  To tell it unflinchingly.  Of course there is joy & compassion & mercy & magic in life--and I want to talk about that too.  But I cannot ignore the dark stuff; to do so would be dishonest. And I don't seem to have the constitution to tackle suffering & death head-on too terribly often.  So for an embarrassingly long time, I've written almost nothing.  I'm just so afraid of looking death in the eye.  And I'm afraid to write because it forces me to do just that.  But I'm also afraid to not write, because I don't want to spurn any gift I may have been given or to risk not telling a story that desperately deserves to be told. 

I don't even want to think about the fact that my dad just suffered a stroke. It triggers this fight or flight panic inside of me, but I don't have the power to do either thing, really.  I can't fight his blood clot or flee from the reality of his & everyone's mortality.  And coping with my fear in a healthy manner (whatever that means) doesn't seem to be an available option for me either.  I'm incapacitated.  I just hope I can begin to make some headway with these fears that paralyze me.  I'd love to find some wellspring of steadfast courage inside of me, but for now I may have to settle for being propelled by anger. 

I'm fucking pissed off about death.  Truly & completely furious about this human condition.  So I may have to be livid & contemptuous about the whole thing for a little while.  I suspect that this may be a degree or two healthier than incapacitated.  At least there's a driving force, some spirit fueling the fire.  And I hope I can rage my way to the other side, to a place that where I can find some measure of peace & acceptance.  Because this shit is exhausting.

Thank-you to whoever or whatever kept my dad alive.  And as I used to say during my terror-stricken childhood bedtime prayers: "Dear God, Please keep everyone I know & love alive, healthy, & safe for 100 years."  I prayed the same prayer every night for hundreds of nights, and I never amended the timeline; it was always 100 years.  Perhaps I thought God wouldn't notice & would continue to honor my prayer forever, in effect making me & my loved ones immortal.  I really wish I could give little kid Tracy a big hug sometimes.  She had so many scared, tearful nights worrying about losing the people she loved.  Not that much has changed, I guess.  Only now I have a precription for a sleeping pill so I can turn off that pesky, scared, bursting-with-love-and-sorrow brain of mine.