Ballast

Cast off ballast

these rollicking seas threaten to upset

my sunken ship

too much of a good thing is never enough.

Wrote those lines a few weeks ago. Poem in progress. Life in progress. Recently I've been asked if I even want to get better, and I said yes, but inside I hesitated. What does it mean to let go? What of myself will I lose in healing? Is there serenity without emptiness? 

I've been at war with myself. I want to let go of the trauma of losing my dad, but I never want to forget Greg. I'm 30 years old, and the shine is off the romantic sulk. 

I used to think happy people were basically stupid. They watched happy movies, listened to happy music, lived happy lives. They didn't grapple with INTENSE FEELINGS, didn't think critically, didn't suffer for their art. I don't ever want to stop making art, but I'm also starting to think about the difference between "making art" and "living art." 

So now what? I won't make any promises, but I'm fairly certain this is my only ride on the Carousel of Life. Do I want to get better? 

 There's no tidy wrap up to this post, just question marks and sighs.....