All too familiar visits by unwelcome thoughts

“I know nothing of days of the week…weeks of the year.”  Charles Dickens.

“The song remains the same”.  Led Zeppelin

It really does not matter what I do today, who I am with or what beloved gifts I may receive, even if it is a treasure such as my beautiful Jelly, they do not keep away the demons that consume me, barely hidden beneath the surface, lurking here, there to ruin everything I try to be and do.

It does not matter who they are, or how many people I know.  Nothing and no one can rid me of the terror of isolation with which I live most intimately.   Even on a good day, and among friends, it is always a step or two behind, or within reach of sound.  It reminds me of its presence, but how can I forget?   I never do.

I wondered out loud  at my mother’s funeral last November, or so I was told, that “we will be back here again soon, only that time  it will be mine.”  Was this a prescient foreshadowing?  After this weekend, the long sleep of death seems like a welcome relief.

It would be so much better to go in the opposite way of these ideas and  distance myself from these voices, but they draw me in with their seductive feel-good words of truth – for me.

Today I have had an unusually difficult day.    I have been emotionally  battered to abuse by people I trust and love the most.    I only wanted to go to a dog show but the usual pleasure of a day spent immersed with borzoi and their owners eluded me.   Then the weather changed unexpectedly and it started to snow.  I dealt with it by myself.  I know, I should be able to do that.

Later on, I wanted to talk on the phone to a close friend, but that person denied me that simple satisfaction.    At the end of the day, nothing worked out.  The rhythmic unrelenting voices speak to punish me for my pain, perpetuating it onward.  In the end, there was only Jelly to be there for me, though poor companion that I was for her.