I am making efforts to improve my life, both physically and mentally. To a degree, the two go hand in hand. However, I find myself constantly teetering on the edge. This morning is no exception, which surprises me after a walk filled with summer beauty, happy people, dogs, and, of course, my camera.
Camera to eye—no problem. Polite conversation—no problem. Exploring my next shot—no problem. In between all that: death.
It is as simple as that. Plain and terrible, but those are my thoughts. It is scary because I don’t know where it comes from. What brings the unimaginable to the forefront of my mind so quickly and vividly? Now, with coffee in hand, I pull apart layers of images, words, and phrases, looking for an answer and a way to dismiss the black. I mean, it should be easy, right?
Some days are worse than others. I can forget the darkness as easily as it shows itself. Other days, it hangs like a fog. It clings to every thought, tissue, and bone. Those are not good days, and I never know which it is going to be. I have ways of dealing with it all, and one is to accept that these thoughts are there and will, probably, always be. Instead of fighting or cowering to its whim, I take it on, head-on. “Here I am,” I say, and show my anger, my wrath. How dare it; I am better than it. I have even got to the point where I don’t worry about its arrival, but…
My concerns are its continued frequency, its lightning speed, and my ability to always be ready. What will be that trigger? Because I am sure, out there somewhere, there is one. What is that thing I won’t see coming, that unwelcome surprise? These are all things I am questioning, right now, even as my fingers type the words upon this page.
I am not looking for sympathy or opinions. It is something, when it is like this, that I have to deal with and find answers to. I have been helped and continue to be supported, which is far more than many, many others, but at the end of the day, I have to put up the fight. I am winning, for now. I shall continue to brawl with the demons because I—little old me—have something worth fighting for. And although I find it hard to see that sometimes, a part of me tells me I am worth it.