Archive: This time of Death

This time of Death

And so begins the walk in darkness, the vigil on the dark side of the moon. The next three weeks I will exist as a ghost, transparent divinity shed from flesh and bone, more asleep than awake, more dead than alive.

It is the heart of Winter.

I fight, but soon succumb, as sure as darkness falls once the sun has set.

I submit and sink, conserve my energy and my air.

How long before I tear at the inside of my coffin?

More dead than alive.

 

Comments:

  • Amanda Grace likes this.
  • Charlotte Walbrecht DO NOT LIKE!!!! BOO!!! :/
  • Amanda Grace I wish I could submit and sink, conserve my energy and my air. I need to. But I had to go and have a kid. Who would take care of him?
  • Renee Pociopa Tropicalness comes in 3 weeks…
    In the meantime, the budgies churble for you.
    And do not forget the Bag of Joy!
    You should do a post about the Bag of Joy.
  • Sutton Laurus Would you consider filming yourself for the next three weeks, just so you can get a chance to see yourself from the outside during this dreadful time?

    You wouldn’t have to show it to anyone but yourself, but it might help for you to see that you’re still the same person when all is said and done. Maybe watch it after the three weeks are over, or watch it in the summer.

  • Anie Knipping Well that’s the fun part. A dried out, crunchy sponge is the same a wet one. All it needs it water, and the water will come… someday. In the meantime, crunchy hurts. And screws with your head.

    Besides, a movie of me right now would consist of sleeping, interneting, and staring at the ceiling. Though it might get interesting as it gets worse. One year I hallucinated that there were chickens in my room. Good times.

  • Sutton Laurus Hehehe. Have you ever written during this period? An insanity diary might be help… keep your sanity.
  • Anie Knipping Oh there’s been a few entries over the years. Let me see if I can find some.
  • Anie Knipping Here’s one:

    I don’t want this, go away! But it’s here… Immune system compromised and the infection begins. It’s been chewing at the edges for a while but not much progress until the cuts stopped healing.

    I see all the memories it mirrors back to me, all the ones I buried. All my fears of love and sex. All my mistakes, all that wretched sadness, weakness, hopelessness.

    Winter salts the wounds to keep them open, a faster route to my mind. It fills with shadows. How long until I’m gone?

  • Anie Knipping *rummage rummage*
    Found another;

    Every year winter comes and with it a phase of death. I never thought how else to describe it. Living death. Every year for as long as I can remember I have fought against this fate and have never won.

    Tonight I am considering acceptance. What is this place I’m in? Surely I’m not really dead. There are hours at a time when I feel close to normal, but there is always the feeling I am not awake. I am sleepwalking. As winter progresses my sense of self changes and distorts. I fade at the edges, less corporeal, far less in touch with reality. In this state of sensory deprivation I hallucinate. I become a fallen god. My dreams overtake the day. I am the moon; pale, cool, and yet beautiful.

    I never noticed it before, the sublime beauty of my deathless state. Now that the kicking and screaming has ended I can float here, empty. Empty, but not frightened. Somehow embrace the void and submit to what must be.

    Perhaps there is something to be achieved here that cannot be when awake? Or rather, perhaps the point is to do Nothing at all.

  • Anie Knipping *dig, dig, diggity dig*
    Here’s one from my working days;

    I am somewhere very far from here like I’ve stepped outside myself. I have nowhere to run or hide. Too fragile…too fragile….just shut it out shut it all out no one wants to hear it no one can help there is no cure it was supposed to be here waiting for me all these years where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it?

    ?
    run away.

  • Alexandra Brody Salazar Beautiful art. At least something new is coming up in January.

    I know this year’s annual dieback is a frozen and spiny one. I had seven inches of snow on top of three feet in Massachusetts. It makes the plow birms higher than a man’s stomach.

    All of it will turn into such a flood in spring– that’s what I’d like to see.

  • Susan Lipson It is hard, but you will get through this. In the meantime, I would suggest sleeping TONS. It makes it go faster.

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