When I was at the top of my writing career with 45 books in publication and an acting owner of Cobblestone Press, I had an abundance of people around me. Oh, they loved me, loved the money I spent on them, loved my bright smile and hopeful attitude. But when everything was snatched out from under me, not one of them hurried to catch my fall. My entire world disappeared and I thought I was alone.
The thing about feeling alone is that if you feel it deeply enough, you cant see past the shadow that stretched out to block out the sun. I felt it in my core. Abandoned. As far as I could see I had been. But I wasn't...not completely. Oh yeah, those moochers scattered like mice. People who were considered friends or family acted as if they didn't even know me. When I reached out for help, my hand was slapped away like an unruly child's.
So I went inward, closed myself from anymore heartache. No one cared about me so I would make certain I didn't either. And I stayed like that for four years. Nobody came looking for me, called to see if I was alive. The world disappeared so I stopped trying, stopped feeling or caring about my own life as well.
Obviously I didn't stay in that dark place. A tribe sister of mine got in touch with me. A man who'd seen me on Facebook came and helped me. Those two worked their tails off to pull me back into the light and slowly the darkness faded away but I stayed there too long.
I'd forgotten how to live. I allowed others to dictate my life, just floated along in whatever direction I was pushed. It's easier that way than struggling, I guess. Now, I'm having to learn how to struggle again...at age 45.
I see my mother's struggle and how she survives and pushes through it. I've seen how others become a life long floater. I don't want to become content with how things are and just settle in and be unhappy. My mother raised me to fight for what I wanted. I might fuck things up but it wont be because I gave up.
When I leave this world it will not be in my sleep. I will be raging.
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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night - Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light