Page 40 - The Houseguest

CLOSURE
Two years had passed before I could bring myself out to the beach house, but even then, I wasn’t ready. Driving slowly down the pebbled driveway, memories began to flood my mind. I could see a vision of little Katie running to greet me as she had during those many weekends I’d driven up to meet them after work on a Friday. As had been our routine, I reached out my arms to grab her up and spin her around and around. Oh, how she would giggle and then exaggerate a wobbly walk after being placed gently back onto the ground. In hindsight, this was the moment I’d lost complete control of where my thoughts would venture by themselves with no direction, under no one’s power. There comes a time when deep mental anguish and depression meld the boundaries of what separates the rational from the irrational, the logical from the illogical, the sane from the insane.
Here I was, an educated successful man, becoming one of those mentally unstable individuals to whom I had contributed money in the past, wondering why they hadn’t just recognized their symptoms and sought help before it was too late. Was it too late for me now? Right then, I considered driving to the nearest hospital to seek help before something happened that couldn’t be undone. But then, what could happen? Nothing could be done to myself that would inflict more pain than I was feeling, and if someone else got hurt, I didn’t care... about anyone else or anything else. I did care once -- deeply, passionately, unconditionally. But caring only brought me suffering, and with it the discovery that I much prefer indifference over compassion.
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life