Where is the spirit of the white bear? Where is the me who wore elf (and chicken) suits just for the fun of it and never, ever cared what anyone else thought about it? Where is the she who barked and snapped at first sergeants and slammed doors when wrongs weren't righted? Where is that woman with more balls than any man her platoon sergeant had ever known? I don't even recognize the me I have become, this anxious, chronic insomniac afraid to snap and growl back at the white bears surrounding me and treating me as an invisible and inconsenquential threat.
I think the word I'm looking for is shellshocked. That is exactly the word I'm looking for. I have had to fight for so long that I have no more fight left in me. I just want to be left the fuck alone so that I can have whatever peace I can find in the solitude of isolation.
That is exactly how I feel.
I touched this place ten years ago when I was coming out of my last cancer surgery. I had this weird experience where my body was under deep anaesthesia, unable to move or speak, but my mind was perfectly clear. As they were trying to awaken me, I was aware of how exhausted my spirit was. . . .aware of how much I did NOT want to fight to come back. . . . aware of how much I wanted to just lie there and let the struggle leave my battle fatigued body. But I wasn't ready to give up, so I fought to rise up out of that dark fog slowing trying to lull me into complete and utter submission.
But now, my spirit is broken. . . .broken with no more fight left. . . .no more fight and just wanting to be left alone in this dank cave with the spirit of the white bear somewhere off in the dense misted fog that has once again wrapped itself around me. I think I will be here for a while. . . .yes, I think I will be here for quite a very long while.