The very second that you are borne a clock begins ticking; it is counting the moments until you die.  At that very second there is nothing but joy and hope but somewhere deep inside of you there is a secret working against you.  Whether or not you can control the clock has been debated by minds far more intelligent than mine; but I will admit that I believe that we have no way to regulate time.  Each of us is at the mercy of this clock and needs to respect it in our own way or waste what it has to offer.

The choice is ours, whether to revel in the gifts which the world provides us or to rage against what we have not been given.  Even those of us who have been blessed by the material have cursed our lives and those who provided us with them.  We have cried out in pain and wished for any other way.  We are selfish beasts; humans.  Watching that box each night you can see the homeless and downtrodden that are murdered and destroyed by poverty and the ills of this cruel society; yet we sit in our therapists chairs and complain.  How dare we?

How is it that I can eat myself to death over the loss of the ones that I love when I am living in luxury; never a worry over bills or a concern over medical insurance?  Yet I sit and gorge myself to the grave, missing those that I have lost and not realizing that they would do anything to be here – anything to return to this place that I call misery.  There are not enough medications to cure me of the everlasting loss that accompanies the death of love.  Such a pathetic and self-indulgent emotion when there are millions without shelter – I should be walking in shame.  Getting fatter and fatter in order to punish myself, turning down jobs which others cannot imagine; who do I think that I am?

The arrogance is astounding.  I no longer watch the television newscast because I cannot handle seeing the pain of reality.  The true suffering in the world puts me to shame.  How dare I worry about seating charts for birthday parties and what to wear, when there are women being beaten to death by their drunken bastard husbands and children going missing?  This whole life of mine is so self-indulgent!  I hate myself, true loathing.  Thus the punishment, the hate turned inward is endless and ridiculous when the world is filled with so much more real pain.  My pain is a joke; I am a joke.

Pain is my sister who walked off of a building because she was pushed by men who fucked her.  Pain is my father who was killed by a woman who wanted his money.  Pain is a sweet dog that died because some sick bastard wanted to make more money for prettier dogs.  I am merely the witness; I’ve no idea when my real pain begins.  I’ve been in pain since my mother told me that she hated me when I was less than seven years old.  You don’t die from that – at least not literally.  You don’t die from watching your father be murdered; or sit by his bedside while he disintegrates.  You would think that you would die from watching your only family member die right before your eyes, but you don’t.  You just sit there all alone and feel your insides break open.  By the way, they never close again no matter how much love, time, therapy or medication.  You will never be whole again.

When your sister walks off the roof of a building and chooses not to call you for help; you don’t die with her.  You blame yourself, you relive the pain over and again, but you do not depart this earth with her.  There is no mercy for you.

When your sweet dog is stolen with the same disease as your father and you are sure that God hates you; there is no proof.  You have no reason to believe that you are no cursed.  You have no reason to believe you should exist; and yet you do.  Every day you keep expanding and expanding to fill the space that has been lost by all of the people that you have lost.  And you despise yourself for getting so enormous!

The day your husband has the same stroke as your father and your dog – and not one person is there for you – not one; you know you are a curse.  You beg God to save him and take you, you beg your father to help you, to help him.  You cry and there is nobody there to console you.  The “family” that you were told that was yours is an illusion, they are a lie.  You stand vigil (once again – this time with a sword) and make sure that your husband does come out of this hospital strong and that he is going to be guarded by YOU.  There will be no confusion, legal lines drawn immediately, heartbroken immediately.  These people were never my family, it was another lie.  They didn’t even come for him; they certainly weren’t coming for me.  While he lay in the hospital, I lay on the floor crying into the fur of my basset hound.  The only one in the world I could count on; a dog.

He forgave his family; they are his.  I cannot and will never forgive them for their lies and cruelty.  I have been hurt too many times, lied to and broken.  Stolen from and left for dead; I cannot trust again.  I am virtually alone in the world, this I have come to accept.  It is mine to carry and my enormous clock which I carry upon my back and I hear it ticking morning and night.  Sometimes I think I hear it skip a beat and my breathing stops and I panic, then it picks up faster and oddly I am relieved.  It is then that I grab the leash and walk my dog again, am glad it is dark outside because I can cry openly and nobody can see my tears – no witness but my best friend:  my dog.


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