Empty

On Reading installation - photo by Andy Chittock (right)

Mark Doty calls it a profound internal sense of emptiness, a blank, a nil spot. Yes. I too am empty. Doty wanted to drown, to jump off the Staten Island Ferry, to fall into the New York water. He takes a pink pill. Serotonin. It helps. I don’t want to drown. I want to live. I don’t want anti-depressants. Though, I am lost. I want to acknowledge it. I am lost. I want to feel my loss of way even though I don’t know what to do, what to be. How to use all this, this me.

I am fortunate. I see the blessings of my life. I am truly blessed. And this space, this emptiness can only be acknowledged because everything else is taken care of. I know this. I have time to think, to consider, to look at my life from a distance and ask, what now? What now?

Making, working, doing, keeping busy. That. All that is me. But I am going round in circles. And the reasons why I made the work have gone. She is no longer here. She is no longer listening. She never was. Gone. Empty. And he too. Both of them. No longer here. No longer listening.

Freedom. I am free to do as I choose. Free. What now? How do I use up all this energy? All this longing to work. To make. To create. To communicate. To reach out to someone. To myself.

A new start. A new something. A new me. Me. Wait. Watch. Tick tock. It will come. See it is soon here. Soon.

 

I ask Jamie about his cat Wendy. She has not returned. Is he upset? It appears not. He shrugs his shoulders. I think she’s found someone else to look after her, he says. I don’t push it. I’m sorry. Perhaps she was restless, wanted another view. Good luck to her. God speed, Wendy.