This is the crack in the ice. It may widen. It may freeze over again as it did this last year. But even a hairline fissure pulls in a little life. I wouldn’t say I’m embracing it today, but last night I was able to breathe it in a little.
The last four months have been a progressive calcification. Every morning begins with a hammering of the shell – I have a good life.. I have beautiful kids.. I have a home – but every night the shell is harder than the night before. I don’t have to ask what’s wrong with me.
I’m collapsing, pulling away from everything but the minimum it takes to feed an sustain the people in my life who aren’t yet self-sustaining. There are no theatrics – no broken dishes or hysterical tears. There’s nothing. There’s oblivion sought and only found on occasional dreamless nights as the ice constricts my organs from the core out.
Today the choice is to write this or not to write. It is to let part of my soul run for a few minutes and let it breathe in and hope the running makes the crack bigger.