It’s been a hard year and it continues on, a nightmare of racism, brutality, a pandemic, isolation, loneliness and death.

I don’t have poetry in me, yet I keep watching the news hoping for some change from our current state, but it is all the same, we are at war within ourselves and with the whole world.

Self-improvement during the most anxious and depressing time of my life is a feat all too daunting. I just want to grit my teeth and white knuckle my way through, yet I expect a pie-in-the-sky ability to thrive.

Some people haven’t had a hug in months, especially the most at risk, quarantined from their loved ones for their own safety, while also deteriorating in loneliness.

I saw an old woman crouching so low with her walker, taking the tiniest of steps. I was on my way to work and I wondered who was taking care of her? Was she forced to take care of herself in that state? Did she have anyone?

I have been lucky. I have a job. I can put food on the table. I have not had Covid, nor have any of my loved ones. What people are going through with oppression and racial injustice I can only sympathize with because I don’t endure it. My mostly right-wing extended family loves to justify the oppression and it makes me sick. Once upon a time I loved them and now I feel I am starting to hate them.

Father’s Day was yesterday. It hit me harder than I imagined it would. I received a couple of art pieces my dad had in his home. I hung them on the wall and felt a piece of him. I thought of all the times I didn’t call him when I thought about it. I thought of my misguided resentment I had as a child. I thought of how we healed over time. I thought of him dying right before Covid hit, and how lucky I was to be at his side. We still haven’t had the funeral.

I installed a sober app for dating and alcohol. Once I went 21 days without wine. I kept trying to recreate the experience with non-alcoholic Rosé, but eventually I caved. I am back on the wagon and I just keep repeating “you don’t have to do this for you, but for her”.

Emily C. Poésie © 2020

Photo Credit: Pixabay

8 Comments Add yours

  1. Your post spoke to me. I recently fell off the wagon after close to five years, it came off the sixth month anniversary of losing my mom. This year has been one big mind-bending trying to figure out on your own. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I am sorry for your loss. I feel for you. All we can do is get back on.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I agree, It will never be easy but we keep fighting.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. For a self-confessed non-poet, that first paragraph was pretty poetic. 😃

    You have the knack for saying things suck without leading people to the edge of despair.

    I suspect your scars are real. I have some too.


    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you! I am indeed a poet, just haven’t written actual poetry lately. I am glad my words reached you. 🙂


  3. Kellie says:

    I’m sorry for your loss ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

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