Good Grief 298

Another long, back to back day. I did make it to the toilet twice and filled my pre-prepared thermacup with hot water.
When I left the Marie Celeste at 6 I forced myself for a walk in the late sun before heading home.
When I look at the beauty of this and so much else, I cry.
So often I am reminded of Coleridge's 'I see, not feel, how beautiful they are'.
The trouble though is, that I both see and feel the beauty but am then utterly floored by despair.
You would think, wouldn't you, that if you could both see and feel it, that it would be enough?
I think it is then that I am crippled by the loss.
It is then that I hit a wall of being almost incapable of being or of engagement at any level. I hold my breath in a suspended damnation.
I'm reminded of Millay https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46464/time-does-not-bring-relief-you-all-have-lied
Some time ago I remember talking to someone recovering from a long cancer ordeal. She said 'I could deal with the cancer, I knew what I had to do and went along with it; it followed a course, but it is the loss (the death of her father) and the depression that I can't cope with ...'

Sometimes I reckon that if I was walking down a certain street in Norwich in medieval times and passed the window of her cell, I'd probably poke Julian in the eye.