There’s a name for the fluttering I get sometimes: haunted womb syndrome. My heart keeps feeling like it wants to give out on me. All the anxiety, all the stress, all the smokes, all the shit is catching up to me all at once.
My friend has been staying with his family. Recuperating from top surgery. His husband killed himself. They were going through a divorce. Had been for some time. I don’t think they were happy together at any point in the two years that I have known them. I hope Tim has found peace. I hope his family can find peace. I don’t know how Riley is coping at all.
And there’s me. I keep screaming into the void. If anyone hears, they aren’t talking. I have to do this. I can’t not create. But the whole point is to touch others. I can’t even get people who are supposed to like me to notice, much less care about the things I create. It feels like failure. It’s too early to give up. One day, I’ll find my audience. For now, I need to finish things.