Maybe...

Maybe...

Maybe if I let this glimmer of a crazy idea spread its fragile roots in my mind...

Maybe if I let myself believe that all the craziness, the loneliness, and the absurdity of my life years ago was the strange outcome of a girl on the verge of diabetes, a girl with an endocrine system struggling to find equilibrium...

If I believe past what has been hinted, that diabetes is tied into so much of one's life and that an autoimmune attack brews silently for years- if I extrapolate and say that with my diabetes diagnosis and, in time, with the restoration of my health with the continued addition of synthetic insulin- I can believe that now things cannot and will not be the same. If I attempt a re-integration into society, I can manage now. I think.

Maybe

Crying won't bring anyone or anything back
Look: to you, they are dead. Be happy, for they live still to others
Over-dramatics keep you from progress, like they make..
Somewhere, perhaps, there is a milestone still for you to reach
Endure the uncertainty, and, if you are blessed, it will be worth it, somehow, someday..

Perhaps I need to completely banish the past from my head. I think it is coming to a point where that is the only feasible thing to do.. Yet look at me! I am the queen of sentimentality! I am more liable to smile at an old, dead, forgotten, small, joyful occurrence than an even larger one I may be currently undergoing. I cry more over tragedies from a year to two years ago than current hurts. I keep diaries and journals that document my life in a way that only I could appreciate. I write poetry about memories. I talk about things long past (because I have nothing to fill the hole they leave with). I dream and I write and I wonder- all about the past. I love the past. But everything, and I mean everything, is in it, and it's bombarding me with all sorts of useless wishes about things that will never be.

The Past

Pale and anemic
Always and only me to blame
Shaken and frail,
Silly and insane.
Ever time will fly, and oh, I do so miss... The
Days I made my bed in which today I lay!

Fall makes me nostalgic. Really, really, really nostalgic, to the point where all passion for the new is stolen from me and I walk in weak surrender to memories of past years. I remember the days Sarah's mom was alive, the days spent in premature and sickening company with the many guys I've dated, the days before everyone became callous (there was a time when I was the only one among my friends to be so), the days I found magic in my removal from the oven of Florida's summer to the coolness of the cellar, so to speak, the times spent with my two best friends when we were so very much younger, a night at Hallowscream, the friendships and relationships I'd cultivate but then neglect that would dissipate so hastily.

Why, why did I wait for a time when things would get better as they were good so that I could look back when things are okay and miss only those times that could have been fantastic? Why am I doing the same thing again? Shall I perpetually be stuck in the past? Is it really as much of a tragedy- to me- as all make it to seem?