Metanoia

‘Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of your year’ Emerson said that, yet every day since the funeral is cruel protracted torture. Atop that I’m thinking of ending things. Once the thought arrives, it stays. It sticks, lingers, dominates. There is not too much I can do about it. It’s there as sunlight leaks through my curtains and doesn’t go away at dusk. It’s there whether I like it or not. It’s there when I eat, at work it’s there when I sleep. Always.
I haven’t been thinking about it for a long time. This thought is novel by comparison to everything else in my head. But it feels old at the same time. When did it start? Jana once said “Sometimes the thought is closer to the truth, to reality, than an action. You can say anything, you can do anything, but you can’t fake a thought”. Perhaps I was not conscious when this thought entered me, it was not conceived by me, somehow implanted in my mind, hijacking my internal systems like a trojan horse virus. Maybe I’ve known all along. Maybe this is how it was always going to end. What’s the point in carrying on like this? I know what it means, where I will be going, the end is predetermined. Written on my heart long before I could decipher what the inscription meant. Perhaps it is part of my nature to keep going in the face of this knowledge. The alternative is too bleak. I’m thinking of ending things

Yet all my efforts to silence these devils, well every effort is as successful as holding water with a sieve. Nothing blocks them seeping through. One listless day follows another, with nothing to distinguish one from the next expect for five words. You could have changed the order of my days and I would never had noticed. 

Life is not always comfortable. In fact, it is painful at times. Sometimes in mornings like these I wake up and after combing my mind of the usual suspects of mine I stumble across myself imagining life as if it were a rolling wave, up and down then up and down. On and on with no shore in sight. I shake this thought like a wet dog drying off and roll the duvet covers from my eyes. 06:59am glows the digital clocks on my bedside table. It flicks over onto the next hour and prompts me to get moving.