Rhetorical Questions?

I find myself writing again.
Loss.
I’m feeling it recently and I want to know how to manage, how to cope, how to survive?
I’ve tried.
I’m not great at it.
But what would happen if I asked.
Asked those who were due to leave me?
When you’re gone, what will I do?
How will I survive without you? How will my world continue to turn without you?
What do you recommend to ease grief?
What suggestions do you have to numb the pain?
How on earth do I keep moving forward?
What have you learnt?
How did you stay married that long?
What is the meaning of life?
What would you do differently?
What’s your biggest regret?
Did I make you proud? How?
Are you mad at me? What are you most disappointed about?
Are you scared?
What do you think happens next?
Do you believe in any deities yet?
What would you do if I wasn’t there anymore?
I feel like I’m swimming in a vast, open sea of questions that I can’t cope with.
And I can’t talk about it.
I just can’t.
I can’t visualise it or make it work.
I just sloap off to bed early, feign tiredness, rough day, stress, exhaustion, period cranp, fatigue and think and write and think some more.
An over thinker and a realist.
I wasn’t born yesterday and I’m not silly.

A woollen cardigan knitted with love

I haven’t written consistently for a very long time.
7 years, actually.
I find this exceedingly ironic.
You see, I’ve been an English teacher for 7 years.
I’ve been able to read, absorb, critique and experience the world’s best writers but I just haven’t been able to transfer that to paper.
Time.
Effort.
Energy.
Perhaps.
I’ve only ever written during hardships, very rarely during good times. But I’ve had hardships. The most difficult of times. The loss of love, life and the will to live. Yet still the words just wouldn’t come.
I often think a fear, a fear of being able to put that pen to paper and experiencing what will really happen, writing something I don’t want to read.
An unlocking of a gate to a path I don’t want to go down.
I think we’re all afraid of that. Letting our heads wonder freely when our hearts feel so contented.
I need to commit to this.
You won’t write yourself.