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Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Navel and Natal gazing

thoughts wandered over to grieving my child of ill development and short time span. If she (?) had lived she would be 7 years old. What we could have done together.

Where would I be now? How would I feel? Was it instead a blessing not to bring a child into and under the presence/influence of one such as I? One who oozes her negative thoughts, her low self esteem, her inestimable sadness. That felt like a descent into the purple of prose. Words sometimes are so satisfying and also woefully inadequate. Another favourite phrase.

So not really much further ahead with PhD stuff. Down a therapist too, so, blog.

The sadness I feel at being childless is very strong, it persists. Does it also subsist - on a the bed of depression so carefully in readiness, cultivated over 40 years prior?

I find myself wishing there was other, more concrete (in physicality and global acceptance of its existence) "condition" with which I was (am) living something so widely accepted that even I could accept it, something that even I could not question as to its veracity its palpability. This haze of depression has weight, it has mass, it has substance and it has influence.

How goes it navel?


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