I’ve been disjointed in my writings. I’ve been scattered. My brain has been a huge abyss that has spewed forth anything and everything that was coming up. I felt lost. I felt alone.

I made a mistake in feeling that I was alone.

Yesterday I wrote I’m trying to believe. I’m trying to believe there is somewhere for me to go when I’m fearful or worried. I don’t know where that is, though. I’m trying to believe that I’m not alone…but I don’t know where to turn. I’m trying to believe that there will be a hand offered to me…but I don’t know where it will come from.

When I said something about this to someone last night, he stated, “What am I? Chopped liver?”

I burst into tears. I told him that I wasn’t sure he was around.

That was a mistake.

He is here for me. He always reaches out a hand. He is always a safe haven where I can go to. I’m not alone because he is there even if it’s in a quiet way as he watches over me.

I’m fortunate. I try to say I’m not. I try to act like I’m an island, content to handle things on my own and to live without any real investment in others. I’m not an island.

I’m more like a plant that flourishes under the care of someone who is considerate and kind in his approach. I have periods where the edges of my leaves whither and turn brown but after a little care, water, and food, I begin to grow again, stronger than before.

—

No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.

– John Donne