you overdosed and hanged yourself at 2am, taken off of life support at 4am.
what of that. Your beautiful children. I guess you really don’t know the trauma that truly goes on behind the revolving doors the true depth your despondence was never illuminated to me fully. I apologise. I’m sorry, truly, I am sorry. Sorry. Sorry seems so, uh. Hollow. So maybe. I am not that, rather, I am sorry to your family and to your children, I am sorry that you endured trauma, that you felt no other option other this, Life was with a horrific existence, that was so much that it could not continue, despite having amazing children, and an amazing sister, and circle of friends, some of which despite trying I still have no idea why they choose to do things they do, still that is who they are, they function.
Somewhere in your heart of hearts there was a white curtailing flag of capitulation. Perhaps Sick of the universe treating your chest and spine like something stitched of cavlar, instead of seeing you for what you truly are, cellular. If chests are doormats, or revolving doors, more should be beseeched. Fitted for purpose, a bulletproof vest, human nature, how to pull back and when to let fly, surrender where to gather, the nexus, and the tenuous shadow side . Too long spending time learning lessons in defeat, gathering archers and bulls-eyes of makers Mark, when to step out foot lose into the world of consistency and dark.
Rock bottom does not exist, it seems one just keeps plummeting, and scars, reminisce just the plumped up elevations, the souvenirs from yesterday’s disasters.
I am sorry that world broke you with its weight, it’s gravity.
That you didn’t receive a warm blanket and hug in consciousness, I would have told you that you were right, the world is heavy. Someone should turn the gravity down.