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Posts Tagged ‘death’

The Shadow Lover

Shadow-Lover, never seen by day,
Only deep in dreams do you appear.
Wisdom tells me I should turn away,
Love of mist and shadows, all unclear –
Nothing can I hold of you but thought
Shadow-Lover mist and twilight wrought.

Shadow-Lover, comfort me in pain.
Love, although I never see your face,
All who’d have me fear you speak in vain –
Never would I shrink from your embrace
Shadow-Lover, gentle is your hand
Never could another understand.

Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made,
Lead me into Shadows once again.
Where you lead I cannot be afraid,
For with you I shall come home again-
In your arms I shall not fear the night.
Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.

Shadow-Lover, Mercedes Lackey

NB: I have an appointment to see the crisis team’s psych tomorrow for a med review.

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The Tears Won’t Come

Slumped in the middle of a half-cleaned room, Hoover still in hand.
But the tears won’t come.

The storm of my emotions gathers round, seaching out a nook, a cranny, a weakness.
But the tears won’t come.

I can feel the blood coursing through my veins, keeping me alive, so close to my skin.
But the tears won’t come.

Thanatos beckons, tells me of treasures he holds, and the blessed peace he brings.
But the tears won’t come.

And so I sit, weathering the storm, making that dreadful decision over and over again:
I choose life!

And the tears?
They still don’t come.

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Death and (physical) Illness

A few weeks ago I went over with my parents to see one of my grandparents, whom had been taken into hospital for various old-age complaints along the line of “not looking after herself”. When I saw her, I recognised the expression on her face right away, having seen it in the mirror so many times. She looked like she’d really lost interest in life, stuck between four white walls and directly below a window she couldn’t even see out of. All she wanted to do is go home. But being home is what had put her in hospital.

And so she was lying there, with a drip in her arm, and nothing much to do except sleep, think, and, er… sleep. She wasn’t eating much at all, and had various other problems (seemed that whatever organ you could have named, she had trouble with it).

Unsurprisingly perhaps, she died this Monday.

She never did make it home. Even had she survived, she would have been placed in a hospice.

I don’t know what to think. I know there’s no right answer.

I feel guilty that I’m not upset – I barely feel anything. Truth is that this is linked to depression – I’d attained the state of numbness and apathy before she died, and her death has not thawed the numbness in the slightest.

I feel a little envious – she’s past her problems now.

More than envy, I also feel a bit resentful. Her death means that I can’t in conscience kill myself. I wish I could, I’m so fed up of fighting, but now I have to find the strength to carry on again, for my mother’s sake. I have no idea how she’d cope if she lost both her mother and daughter in a short space of time, but I can’t imagine it would be very pretty, so my own desire for peace has to be set aside.

I almost didn’t post this; I don’t want to clog up the blogosphere with moaning/glorification of suicide, and I expressly don’t want sympathy. But as I was writing this, I found it helped somehow, so it may as well go up. Don’t be surprised if it disappears again.

Other things have been happening this week as well (had that appointment with the young-people place), but I’ll save those for another blog post.

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