podeamending
The effect wears off and the stinging returns, reaching into a box and feeling for more foil-wrapped capsules, fingers touching nothing and despair sets in.
And the realisation that someone I had begun to trust and take counsel with had done the contemporary equivalent of the ignoring of a letter, of the not going to the door, of the not heeding of the phone’s ring. And as inconsequential as it may seem, being blocked by someone you consider(ed) a Friend hurts.
Even if no one can fill the void, at least having someone there would allow me to pretend that I needn’t be alone. Such disregard simply confirms that loneliness isn’t of my own design, and that repulsiveness leaves me only solitude to take comfort in; the illusion stripped from me, the pain is more stark, no longer buffered by self-delusion.
And like an ill the feeling spreads, as I dissect recent conversations. Taking apart what I assumed was concern. Analysing what I assumed was good-will.
And ill spreads, weakness going down to the bones. Stinging permeating, becoming throbbing instead. Washes of cold and heat and cold, from crown to sternum. Trembling of fingers, psyche fighting instinctively and failing.
Numbing deadness through the plexus, I welcome the quietus. Brief release from physical pain. Brief release from soul pain.