I am parked on a deserted, wind-swept beach late on a Friday afternoon after work.
A million voices drowning out any sense of serenity in my mind are in turn drowned out by the urgent shrieks of curious gulls overhead.
I know this feeling…this place. Endless emptiness that ebbs and flows. Not quite despair, but too raw to be the tedium of life and privilege.
I know this feeling.
I should be sweating it out in the gym with my personal trainer; there’s no way in hell I’m dragging this fat, ugly carcass – so useless in its heaving, inflexible mass – anywhere near a gym to suffer that self-imposed, sweaty indignity.
This feeling. It’s fueled by the inner voice, the cutting dialogue of criticism and self-loathing. OH GOD, DOES IT EVER END? WHEN DOES THE STILLNESS COME??? The silence. The end of…what?
The end of what, Dave?
I don’t know. I just feel… I just feel.
Waves crashing over there. Sun fading behind the clouds behind me bring on a chill wind that is nothing like as cold as it feels inside.
The opposite of hot, angry rage. Christ. “Angry rage”…use your words, Dave.
How can you stand it? All this…feeling? How do you do it, so relentlessly, day in and day out.
I detest it.
No. That’s not true. I detest these empty feelings. These bleak moments where I would rather fade away to nothing instead of sitting here, silent on the outside but raging on the inside, feeling ….feeling what?….stretching out for years in front of me.
How do you even end a piece like this?
© Dave Luis 2016. All Rights Reserved.