Saturday, December 26, 2009
Originally uploaded by Port Arthur Historic Site, Tasmania
Another night of sitting vigil. To what? I don't really know. I tell myself to rest, to sleep, yet here I am. I wish I could detach from these feelings, then perhaps I could truly find peace.
I tell myself, be real Dan. It's only been three months, how can your body not expect Michael to be here next to you? How can your heart stop aching when he can't be found? I want to believe my own words of strength. I want my own optimism to last longer than a few hours. I want to will myself into doing better than I am. I can't.
I know that at some point tonight I will be able to let go, and to lay down and sleep. Although I am never able to do this on my own. I haven't slept without the aid of a little pill for over two years. Insomnia is what I have known my whole life. It used to be a companion about once a week, then Michael got sick, and insomnia took hold of me every night. I've stopped trying to sleep without the aid of my little friends, it does me no good. At the same time, I know that on a night like this even a sleeping pill is of no use.
What am I doing? Where is the logic? How did this happen to Michael and I? Life played such a cruel joke on me. Want the man of your dreams? Go out and find him. Oh, you found him? Well, not so fast sucker, time for him to go.
Do I sound angry? Oh, maybe a bit. Resentment? I've got plenty of that. I wish there was an island for us widows and widowers. We could just walk in circles on this island, pass each other in the night without question. We would reach out to each other, take the hand of each passer by, give them a knowing and caring look. We would see each other's lights on at night, and just walk in to offer comfort. Maybe we would have communal wailing. Maybe there would be nightly "wail watching tours." Okay, now I'm really losing it.
This is the madness that sets in when logic is not part of your life. This is the madness that takes hold of your mind when you have been deprived of sleep. This is the madness that permeates your soul due to lack of physical affection.
I don't think I want to be sane, or at least not all the time. To be sane would mean that there was never any reprieve from my pain and sorrow. I would just wail all the time.
Alright, time to sign off.
Having a wail of a good time in San Francisco.