Apathy.
Apathy apathy apathy.
Too much to think and feel so my brain has let in the grey foggy clouds outside to hide behind.
My head aches. In a numb and fuzzy manner, it pounds at me.
The fairies at the bottom of our garden flew off. Instead, there is a pole wreathed in bouquets at the bottom of the street. Two people were killed there yesterday. I drove past the car, crumpled against the tree, draped in a white sheet to hide the interior gore. Two people are really, truly and forever dead, but the scene was straight from a teen-angst poem. It even happened on a grey and windy afternoon.
is it the weather, that's eating at everyone's moods?
Everyone I speak to lately seems to be depressed. Maybe it's the time of year. Winter approaches the Northern hemisphere, and the east coast of Australia is more wintry than it has in months. My brother called at 1am the other night, just to chat. An hour later, back in bed, my mind wouldn't let go of that odd note in his voice. I called back. He will be ok, but is relieved that I checked.
There is a hollow core of sadness in me, from this morning's argument. I didn't mean to hurt him, but somehow we caught each other's jagged edges and tore out gaping holes. Normally I would be angry. Normally I would be breathcatchingly afraid of what it means for our friendship. Numb. Empty . There is an achingly sad worriedness somewhere inside, but it's untouchable.
Somewhere inside, too, is that cluster of cells that have gone bad. That resist all my mental attempts to probe them, heal them, even envisage them. In the deepest part of me they crouch, hidden in an inky blackness that I can't penetrate. I can't see what is happening. I can't see what it will mean. I know the statistics. I know they're in my favour. But they're diminishing. Last week there was a 90% chance nothing would go wrong. Today it's 50. I don't get sick. I am scarily, robustly healthy. Whatever happens, it won't affect my health too badly. But it may (such a little word, may) make me barren. I know this word is not PC. I know "infertile" is the accepted term. But it's so clinical, so sterile, so unreal. If I can't have children, I will be barren.
I think that this concept will frighten me, when I remember how to feel.