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?
Post from 2011 - Who am I if I'm not suicidal? What is life like? Where am I uncomfortable because I'm not suicidal? It feels anxiously flat, a nervous nothingness So I feel ...
7 months ago