This is just my temporary home

Posted on March 21, 2010

Driving in the rain at night. Wondering what direction to head – where to go. Debating whether all is over – all is lost like some dream of yesterday that is fading faster than your will to hang on to it. Waiting to see what each day will bring. Feeling powerless, isolated and uncertain. Surely this cannot be how everything that happened up until now ends, can it? Is that all there is?

Looking into a storage locker at most of the accumulation of your life, tossed roughly into plastic trash bags and stacked almost to the ceiling. No marking to know where anything is, things piled so high it is impossible to haul them down single-handedly and try to sort through anything to see what is left. Another place where you must ask for help – and that’s not so easy to do when you’re unaccustomed to asking for help – more accustomed to offering it. Humbling, disheartening, soul-breaking disillusionment.

No tears – just a numb kind of awareness that this is, after all, reality. No feelings other than being humbled to one’s knees and not able to discern why this is happening. Is there a lesson to be learned from this? What is it?

Is there a place to go from here? Where is it?

It’s not my first temporary home – it seems my life has been filled with such places, always temporary, always changing. Scenes, faces, voices, time – all change, all fade away. I just cannot look into that room stacked full of trash bags and believe that it can be more than my temporary home. On the other hand, how many new starts does one get to successfully mount in life? Sooner or later, they’ve got to take their toll – and then, maybe it’s just too late to start all over again.

I thought that I was going to use whatever time I had left in life, whatever resources to fulfill the unlived dreams I had for me. I thought this was going to be my time. Seems like others had other plans for me. Seems like someone thinks they knew me bettern’ I know myself. Never enough…never enough…never enough. Not enough of me to be for all time what someone else counted on me to be – to make them feel safe and secure – to make them happy, no matter what it did to me. Every time I think I find my voice, tell my own story, it’s not enough because it’s not the story that someone else wants to hear. All this time, all this time it took for me to find my own story – false starts, obligations, things that just had to be done for others…and now all I wanted was to be able to finish my story on my own terms, in my own voice, on my own time…for my own peace. But I suppose, that was a pipe dream, the kind fools like me dream. After all, this is just my temporary home.

Last edited by katie on March 21, 2010, 10:03 pm

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2 responses to “This is just my temporary home”

  1. I like how each paragraph begins…blunt isn’t the correct word.  Because blunt has negative connotations.  The paragraphs just hit the reader, without pulling punches.  It makes me feel like I’m the narrator, and the thoughts are hitting me.  Punching me in the gut.  Well written.

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