To Disappear

*This was written sometime before Christmas, before I started working full time again, when I clearly had too much time on my hands and in my head. However, though I feel more stable in my life, the sentiment is still with me. I am terrified; of the big things and the small things, of my freedoms and choices, and of the 1984-ish aspect of the way facts and history are being handled during these times here in the US. Reality and subjectivity are two of my favorite ideas to debate philosophically,  but the goings on here are most certainly playing a joke on me, like the world has turned into one big, unfunny satire.


It is easy to disappear.

Three weeks ago, I was livid, hurt, scared and decidedly ready to get involved. Today I sit, trying to not let something small but maybe big deter my goals, deter my ability to function as a human. A week after the election, it was all so much, so overwhelming, I quit. I deleted social media off my phone and quit reading the stories and quit giving all of my mind to the overwhelming depression.

A simple, “I’m fine.” It keeps even the closest person from asking more, asking those questions, keeping you from facing the truth: Despair. Unaccountable sadness, despair, anxiety and fear.

Death. Failure. Loneliness. Disease. Disaster. Pain. Suffering. Add in family and friends and the pain the death the disappointment the overall sense of failure to know anything and help anyone because…

It is easy to disappear.

I will tell you: A bottle of vodka. A twelve pack of high gravity beer. An empty house. No phone calls.

It is fighting to stay present for a child, for the only child, the only person with unconditional love. This is my reason. He has my eyes. And he’s so intelligent and funny and he makes me want to be okay.

I want to not want to disappear.

Today. On the computer the news headlines terrify me. The posts terrify me. The tweets are disheartening. The hate is so much more palpable and lasting than the goodness. Think back. Try real hard. Those negative comments, those mean people, they’ve stuck in the bank of memories and they’ve taken root, grown black branches, spread the significance of what a negative action is capable of.

Stir with a ceaseless self loathing and

It sticks with you.

And my head is filled it’s always going with the this and the that and the what did I forget what did that comment mean this person probably didn’t like me anyway how can a nice guy care and definitely how can one care after getting to know me and the insecurities and selfish behavior and the me and me me me.


How will my child ever be okay?


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