There is nothing sexy about the lips pressed to her throat. Nothing quite terrifying either. The mouth opens and teeth come down hard on the skin. There is a pinching sensation as the skin is broken, and then immediately it is gone. She doesn’t necessarily feel it as her blood begins to flow out, but feels the chill. She feels the sensation of cold spreading down from her neck, thru her body, and out to her extremities. She feels her pulse under her skin, begin to slow. She feels her body begin go grow numb, as she becomes frozen. Now forever frozen as she is…

Morning comes. I stare at the face staring back at me in the mirror. Reluctantly, I concede no amount of makeup will be able to hide the bags and dark circles under my eyes. I sniffle, feel a throb in my head, and sweep some foundation under my eyes anyway.

The weekend wasn’t exactly the respite I’d hoped for. The constant pain in my neck and shoulders has only gotten worse. And the fatigue is more apparent on my face than ever. I finally look my age. I feel much older.

It was a kick in the pants though. I awkwardly sat in the hall, not sure where to be, listening as the mother sobbed. Giving in to emotion and letting the tears flow freely. “Its just not fair,” she cried. And it was true. I believe that sometimes bad things happen for good reasons, but where was the good in this? This woman who had two beautiful children, a job she loved, an adoring family, and the full love and support of peers, taken unexpectedly.

She was only a year older than me.

It made me realize that at some point I simply became frozen. I stopped living my life, I simply began sliding by. I stopped living with energy and enthusiasm. I stopped dreaming. I stopped writing. I stopped living.

I had promised myself that I would have a better year than the dreaded 30th year. And yet, I’ve done nothing. If my time came, what would I be leaving behind? One of my greatest fears, is simply to fade away and be forgotten. I think somehow it always has been. From very early on, finally learning how to spell and write my name, and carving my initial into every clean surface. Deep chizeled R still visible on the surface of my parent’s solid oak dining table. What am I doing to make my existence count for something? What am I doing to make a mark on the world that runs deeper than pen scratches in wood? 

How do you pick up the threads of your life you’ve let spool around your feet? How do you untangle the fear, and the loneliness, and the defeat? How do you sort out the love, and the courage, and the strength to move forward? How do you find the drive, the passion, the fire?

…One thread at a time…