Listeners

Journal Entry (adapted), 9/08/20, 1:40 AM

If I just keep writing, will it eventually help me?
Where do I turn when I feel my resources are exhausted?

When I am the broken toy tossed into the reject pile.
When there is no silver lining in the story.
When the heart has become so deadened, it is unable to respond.
When the heart feels a desperation, a silent scream, to which no one, not even the heart's owner, responds.

That is where I am.
And I'm having great difficulty finding a way out.

A dearth. A despondency.
A less than hollowness.
Not even an emptiness.
More like nothing ever existed there before, so there is nothing from which to be empty.
The space always was.

That is what this feels like.

I beg of the invisible-to-my-eye listeners, please, please give me something to hold onto.
Something so I know I'm heard.
I need more.
I need to know I matter.


*~*
And then...
9/08/20, 3:15 PM, just before leaving the house for my 4:00 neurologist appointment to receive Epidural #31:
Hubby hands me a card that had arrived in our mailbox. Normally our mail doesn't arrive until 5:00 PM or so. The card is from a long-distance friend in Chicago, just checking in and letting me know how much I'm valued. She even put a cycling postage stamp on it. (I'd like to get some of those stamps.) The Listeners had perfect timing.