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Tuesday, April 5

An Empty Ache


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This is a series of stories that is part of my own healing. I welcome you to read along, or not, but I'm going to write it anyway. I hope you take something good from it, and I hope I do too.

If you have thoughts of suicide, please call 1 (800) 273-8255 to reach the National Suicide Crisis Hotline, or call 911. Please know, admitting help is not a failure. Life can be beautiful, you just have to live it first.

I know this feeling. I have just read the phrase in the book Alex & Me by Irene M. Pepperberg.

Should sadness be a spectrum I suppose I am drifting somewhere between 7 and 8 (out of 10).

Empty Ache. An interesting way to describe the infinite folding in of oneself. Inward and inward, infinitely.

What happens is that one feels trapped in a box that looks like a body.

Feeling like the brain is a parasite to the body, its host.

So much is controlled in the brain. So much.

And what is strange, is feeling as if the brain has trouble cooperating with itself.

I feel very much like I am apart from myself.

And yes, it is strange.

I imagined that everyone felt this way, but I am learning now this is not the case. Perhaps there is someone out there, perhaps I am not the only one - but I have felt so alone for so many things, it is hard to feel optimistic that this should be different. But maybe it shall.

If I am learning one thing it is that life is wholly unpredictable.

Where I was a year ago, and a year before that, never would I have imagined this -

Being changed altogether. Being aware I was something else. Being, different.

It is strange, I have always felt like “Kristine.”

In this moment, it is strange to know I must be Kristine, and yet, I do not feel like her. I do not feel like I am on the same path that she was. I feel like perhaps my life has come to a fork - that in some alternate universe, I am still on the same trajectory Kristine was on and maybe she is happy there.

But here, me, here, unsure of who I am, I don’t know if I am happy. I don’t know what I am. I just know I am different.

That is hard. That, I think, is the empty ache. Existence and non-existence. Being. Empty being. Locked in a motion. Host and Parasite, thinking together.

I liked my life. Sometimes, anyway.

Perhaps I shall like this life too.

Outward and outward, ever outward.

Perhaps I shall be okay.


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