Acceptance

I'm sitting here in silence, I can't seem to find the words to say. Nothing sounds quite right as I combine words into sentences, and they are deleted quickly after their birth, wiped clean from the monitor screen. I'm left staring at the blinking vertical line, as if expecting inspiration from it's simple repetitive form. Nothing comes, my thoughts are dull, lifeless, emotionless. As colorless and repetitive and the plain black insertion point printing out the letters my fingers now tentatively press. There is no emotion behind them, stale, insipid thoughts now transfered into a physical light. 

This is the phase of the greif cycle I have a great distaste for. As backwards as that may seem, it pains me to reach this point, at least in the others I felt something, even the initial paralysis of shock was something. To me, this phase is synonymous to "what now?", or even the point right before, before you even have the sense to look for a "what now". You're numb, not with shock, just a bone chilling feeling of vacancy. The acceptance of passed events leaving you void of emotion. That is where I am now, just floating in the nonresistant space of nothingness with no real direction to focus my path for the future. 

Strangely, and frustratingly enough, this phase has laid hold on me at the same time for many of the griefs plaguing my life as of late. I'm left feeling exhausted and used, blindly insecure. I am emotionally sore, and without the distractions of the much more complex phases I am consigned with the abstraction of nullity, able to focus on the realistic pain left behind. This is the point where we are expected to pick ourselves up from the dark corner of despair, dust ourselves off, and move forward with renewed faith. No one ever talks about reaching acceptance and wanting to crawl back to the corner, just to be able to feel something. No, that would be detouring, diverting from the path, slipping from the norm and expected. Crazy, unwanted, unspeakable, not fit for the quality of life written about in self-help books.

 Like moths to a light, humans naturally seek the comfort. It is unexpected to turn our backs from the light, to wallow in the darkness. To be unwilling to take our chances in the light and turn back seeking any emotion we can find, just to feel something. Yet, that is exactly what I am doing now. Fighting the light, afraid that once I embrace it the things that brought me grief in the first place will no longer matter as they should, they will be forgotten. The light will take the sting away from the sharp thorn that pierces my emotional skin, dull it, cloud it. As crazy as it sounds I want it there, because it's something. 

Now I'm talking in circles. The black dash spurting out the nonsense, so here I close this rant, before I lose all sense of normality.