Ordinarily, the darkness is a tiny ball. I carry it around with me wherever I go, and usually it’s safely tucked away and I don’t even notice it. Then something happens to flip the lid and suddenly the darkness has crept into every open space within me.
I’m tired of carrying the darkness around and I’m ready to let it go. I don’t want to feel bitter or sad about not having children, because honestly, I’m okay. But sometimes I can’t remember who I am any more. When I look in the mirror I don’t see me. I see a woman who looks tired and overweight, and very, very serious about life. She doesn’t laugh easily or live with abandon, like the real me used to. She’s cautious and unwilling to let herself go. She feels like a square peg in a world full of round holes and it’s lonely sometimes.
Our experiences make us who we are, but what happens to who we were? In a universe where energy remains constant, the old me — the laughing, carefree joyous me — must still be around. I catch glimpses of her sometimes, and like a huntress, I follow her into the woods. And yet, so often, she manages to evade me.
So, all I can do is be patient, keep an eye on her and keep moving towards her. I know she still exists, and one day, if I keep hunting her, I know I’ll catch up with her again. Then maybe we can stand together again and let the darkness go.