Monday Musings - Cimmerian Shade

Cimmerian Shade
By Bobbi Rightmyer

At night ghosts of the past haunt my dreams calling for requital;
in the morning -
although they can't be seen -
they are always there, waiting ...

Violent clouds are not a stranger
where the wind howls in anguish and mourn for departed souls,
seeming to ask why are they dead.

Musty corridors in the manse of my mind,
lead me on a journey,
taking me to the dead world of the past.

Darkness perches all around
in seeming isolation from the world
as long shadows of fear reach out and try to touch.

Cimmerian shade has come,
forcing the hidden secrets of the past into the light.
Towers of darkness -
the symbols of mystery -
cloud the answers in adumbration.

The caliginosity stands as a dead reminder of the past
casting out eclipses into the night.
They will not die
when they reach out for another.

But the past has intruded
the darkness has filled my heart,
and icy fingers reaches out to other hearts
with a glow I cannot dispel.

Many shades of black

The Many Shades of Black

Patent leather Mary Jane's

Barnabas Collins' cape

Coal mine soot

Dead of night
Vinyl LP
Toe Jam
Sin
Manure
Garden Soil

Moonless night

Superstition's cat

An evil man's heart

Smokey Mountain Bear
Depth's of Mammoth Cave

Comfortably Numb

Comfortably Numb

Depression is an illness millions of people suffer through for weeks, months, even years. It may be simple post-partum blues, or depression because of grief, or sometimes it’s the bottom of the barrel and you can’t see you way out. It makes you feel lonely and afraid.

“Hello?
Is there anyone in there?
Just nod is you can hear me.”

What if you can’t nod from exhaustion? You try at first to take care of your depression as you retreat farther and farther from your family, your friends, the world.

The family tries to persuade you to go see a doctor, but you resist. You’ve had these feelings before and you’ve always – always – pulled out of it by yourself.

But this time things are getting worse and the next thing you realize all you want to do is pull out in front of a tractor trailer and end it all. This is when you know you’re in deep shit. As soon as you drive the last mile to work, you make an emergency call to the nearest psych center.

“I’ll need some information first.
Just the basic fact,
Can you show me where it hurts?”

I want to scream – IT HURTS EVERYWHERE!! I need help before something bad happens to me or my family. So off I go to the fix-me-up place.

“Okay
Just a little pin prick
… you may feel a little sick.
Can you stand up?”

Group therapy, individual therapy, no notebooks with wires – my favorite kind – how the hell will I be able to write? The first few days I’m a zombie with no thoughts of my own.

“I have become comfortably numb.”

This is not solving my problem, I want to be a normal wife again, a mother, a daughter, a grandmother, a writer – but never a nurse ever again - never ever.

“When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.”

I am no long a child and I have a dream. The pain is not over and it will always be there back in the shadows of your mind. I will sometimes have dark days looming, but now they are coming in longer waves. I close my eyes, pulling on willpower to move forward.

“I no
longer want
to be
comfortably
numb”

**Song lyrics by Pink Floyd**

Something is missing from my life

 Something is missing from my life

I feel like my life is been on pause for the past year; a button was pushed and my entire life came to a screeching halt. Even though I am much better physically than I was a year ago, my writing has never fully recovered and I can't seem to get started again. I've never had writers’ block so I don't know how to stop this feeling. How do I get back to where I was artistically when I still feel like crap inside emotionally?

I know I should be thankful for how far I have come in this past year; my friends and my family all tell me I need to give myself a break. I just cannot seem to do that and still live up to the expectations I hold inside my head. I have fought with depression most of my adult life but the fog that is floating through my life at the present is too thick to cut through. I feel trapped in my house because I don't want to leave; the anxiety of having to go outdoors is overwhelming.

The therapist in me tells me that if I go outside and enjoy the sunlight I am sure to feel better, but I can't seem to make that final step into the great outdoors. I missed so much of last year and now I am missing this year because of overpowering fear. Instead I stay indoors where it's nice and cool - granted this helps me breathe better because in that stifling heat it's hard for me to draw breath - and binge watch my favorite television shows. My new favorite Cedar Cove which I managed to watch in just a week’s time. I'm also a fan of the Vampire Diaries and Pretty Little Liars, both are my guilty pleasures, but I’ve just added Teen Wolf, so it may be in the running for an embarrassing part of my life. 

But there's just so much TV you can watch during one day. I have also started reading again, although I have to use my Kindle now for most of my reading enjoyment because my eyesight has gotten too bad for me to pick up a regular book to read. Top of my author’s list is Laurell K. Hamilton – who I got to see this summer when she came to Lexington – Stephen King, Rose Pressey, Debbie Macomber, Kathy Reichs and Patricia Cornwell. Since the beginning of the year, I have re-read Hamilton’s Anita Blake series, Reich’s Bone series and Cornwell’s Scarpetta series. To me there is something comforting in reading past works I have enjoyed. I realize none of these are literary works, but they encourage me and open my heart to writing.

As I write this, I realize I am breaking through my writer’s block. I have book reviews to write, blog posts to construct, articles to edit and column ideas that I want to pitch. Maybe I’m on my way back; my inner therapist is happy to see me writing and I think I heard the lazy yawn of my muse trying to wake up.