When Fear Finds You
Recently.
I have found life to be tremendously difficult.
Not a little difficult.
Tremendously.
And in that state, I have floundered. LOUDLY. Chafed-knees, floundered loudly. Can’t-quite-breathe, floundered loudly.
Doubtful-normal-will-ever-return, floundered loudly.
(I understand the quick-with-advice corrective, there is no normal). But there was. Honestly, there was. I lived there for an invitingly long time and enjoyed it. Very much. Breathed. Effortlessly. And, even laughed. Although I am not sure how often. But I know I did. Indeed. Laughed. Loved. Found sunsets beautiful.
The once haphazard romance of my youth now mocks me. Existential delight in short-lived barns having burned down. And my once-upon-a-time, rather emotionally engaged, confidence that in their absence; a glowing moon makes ash and loss worthwhile. What a lark.
Brilliant Stevie Smith serving synecdochic Hollywood with her poignant not-waving-but-truly-drowning understanding of how things do indeed go terribly awry. Deep within. The much-too-far-out-all-my-life that in a moment can erode. Give way. Find yourself flat. On your face. Or, your back. Regardless, underwater deep. No air to breathe.
What once was (presumably such, I agree) no longer is. Impenetrable sense of Lost.
No way/drive/hope/(seeming)chance to get up again.
Bouncing ball completely flat. Yes, again, flat. Iteration after iteration, increasingly lower. And then (altogether) everything stopped. Eloped. (Years of fears once entertained, now realized. Not in part. But,the whole).
What to do? After normal.
Not Waving But Drowning
By Stevie Smith (Collected Poems, 1972)
Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.