It all started with thinking about hangings. We watched a show last night and one of the characters hung themselves. This decided to be a problem now, not last night. I awoke early this morning as I usually do and I thought “hangings”. It’s not uncommon that shortly after awakening I conjure something work-related. I can think of lots of better ways to start the day but none of them are ever going to happen, so work it is.

After attempting and succeeding at some productivity this morning they have returned. Hangings. A hanging was the first time I had to deliver “the news”, and it was to inform a young teenager about their father they had found after coming home from school.

It’s sudden, like the events themselves. Sometimes it feels like my candle is lit at both ends and this shit is a flame attempting to light the middle over and over again. Wax drips like the tears I turn off with Prozac, slowly exposing all that I tried to hide with each flame triggered.

Lately I’ve been thinking about identity, and how I don’t necessarily have a choice in all that that is now. I cried over feeling erased, yet this isn’t going anywhere. Erased isn’t the right word. Disrespected is. I can live with this, but it will always be there no matter which direction I’m trying to go.

Imagine if your living room walls were painted with that wsib video call background you hide them with. That’s my world.

Until next time challenge your sycophancy and stay present!