Brett Beighley and Bunker, photographed while hiking the Mineral Springs Loop in
Raccoon Creek State Park, PA. - photo by Marci Beighley, April 12th, 2015
12.10.18
I was thin, I was healthier, and my dog was still my dog.
Honestly, I just fucking looked better all around.
I need to want to really be this person again. Somehow, I have to pull from within my sedentary self the necessity of being him. Again, with self honesty being a dull penetrating blade here, I’m not all that great at committing to activity. I would be rubbish at starting any revolution. This portrait of me though, which Marci took while we were on a hike, is like a photograph of a long dead friend. This photo, which in its own right is a fantastic and well made image, is a goddamn memorial to someone else who I have the potential but not the dedication to be. Where do I find the need? How can I force the adherence to repetitive motions? Am I stupidly doomed to wait for a full blown cardiac moment? Must I wind up in a hospital recovery room with my loved ones standing over my scarred chest and looking at me with the pity and knowledge that I came so very close to complete nonexistence? Or, and this is the monster that haunts my closet, is there some recessed part of my consciousness that wants the drama of a proper crescendo? If I’m dead and gone, imagine the weight such a loss would give to my works. Universes of intent and meaning would immediately and irresistibly be passed on to my survivors. These dark thought drifts through my recognitions and I worry that they might be truths.
I miss my dog. I miss being that thin. I’m over forty and miss being younger. So much longing and nostalgia which I cannot, for some damned reason, turn into fuel to burn forward into a future long and meaningful. I’m not asking for help. I would somehow resent the sympathy and so please accept my apologies. Here amidst these few lines I have tried to vent a piece of anxiety out of myself and I’ve made note of at least a small desire to be better than I am at this moment. So, as this year and its twelve ridiculously short months wind down to an end which is as inevitable as mine, let me try yet once again to resolve to certain commitments. Shall I put first, for once and forever more, the needs of those who love me? No, absolutely not. I feel its need. Its ultimatum. There needs to exist some selfishness. I must develop some small amount of outward narcissism.
Ugh… even as I contemplate it I become exhausted and want to quit.
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