Requiem For Despair

Despair is a bitch because it is so damn sneaky. It approaches you as “being cautious” and settles at the base of your neck. It gives you new eyes and ears to see and hear with; issuing warnings; ‘danger, danger. is everywhere.’

You gain superpowers from despair—a Spidey-sense. You start thinking that you can perceive danger before it happens—also (foolishly) believing that you can do something about said danger. Slowly, you begin to rationalize your ‘being cautious’ by only focusing on the horrors you either hear about, or see on television, or read in blogs.

“It’s just not safe to…(fill in the blank)” becomes your operating system. Danger can lurk any and everywhere. The beauty of darkness becomes an insidious enemy. Strangers are greeted by your ocular threat-assessment. You’re only being cautious, you continually con yourself into believing. Your worldview becomes a series of pre-emptive self-defense strategies. Now that despair has you, it can make itself known.

Slowly, despair sheds its stolen skin and extends tendrils to the base of your spine and it envelops your heart. You’re trapped. Paralyzed by the fear that despair has introduced to you. You can no longer act, only lament. Your throat is tight—heart constricted. You hold your loved ones close and pray—something you haven’t done in years—that nothing of the oh-so-prevailing horrors even touches their periphery.

As I look in my daughter’s eyes, see her smile, despair gets nervous and I feel its tendrils loosen. If I can’t act, how can I be a good father? I inhale the smiles, the beauty, and the laughter—those snaky tendrils loosen further. My daughter hugs me and I feel despair tremble.

I’m ready.