I must admit that the war has been simmering below the surface more as my anxiety and depression take hold, and it seems I’ve been responding in the usual way: by becoming irritable and emotionally blocked.
The war wasn’t the trigger; it just seems to follow on the heels of everything else when it goes wrong. Winter is always hard on me, it seems that’s when money’s tightest and the anxiety about making it another year runs highest.
I really want to cry and just let all this negativity out. I feel like I still haven’t spent all of my feelings. I’ve been riding so high on my current projects and future prospects and now that things have slowed down I have time to think of all the times I nearly threw my current life away, of how easily I could still throw it away without realizing what I’m doing… and by extension, I’m reminded of the life I threw away almost a century ago.
I really hate attributing any of my problems to a war that happened before I was born; I think I’ve said that many times. But the fact is, when I follow the trail of everything I did across this life and the life before, I see an unbroken continuum of being a scared, neurotic, depressed, and dysfunctional individual in the wake of what happened to the person I was in 1915.
I found a VFW poppy in the landscaping outside the Natural Grocers in Beaverton yesterday afternoon while waiting for the bus, picked it up and put it in my purse. I remembered how, as a child in 1992 or thereabouts, I had reacted with a strange revulsion when offered one at the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown with my father.
Even though I refused the poppy, it came right back to me years later. How thoroughly fitting. I guess there’s no running from the past after all.