March 24, 1994

"It is not those who can inflict the most, but those that can suffer the most who will conquer."
                                                     Terence McSwiney - Irish Rebel&Hero

The history of Ireland, including the current problems in the North, prove Terence McSwiney to be correct.  He suffered and died in a British jail in 1920 after a 74 day hunger strike.  But this act of suffering also carries over to Irish-Americans. There is something about suffering that appeals to the Irish - and not for the religious reasons about offering it up to God or for the poor souls in Purgatory.  I think we suffer because we are good at it.  After centuries of persecution, hardship, famines and stern and strict sermons, suffering has become embedded within us that is just comes naturally - usually wrapped in guilt.  We are a people whose wars are merry and whose songs are sad.  Our common bond is more than blood and heritage, it is that we suffer well.  It is too bad Saint Patrick didn't have the wisdom and foresight to drive the inner serpents out of our ancestors, rather than the snakes out of Ireland.

But I am tired of suffering and am tired of being alone and on my own.  I am living in my own private hell of anxiety, misery, depression, despair, sadness and loneliness.  My loneliness is so keen, so deep, that there are times when I'm full of terror.  I am tormented endlessly.  It is said that God comes to us through our wounds, but I have yet to feel His healing presence.

For the past four months I've been living out of two overnight bags, a gloomy gypsy wandering aimlessly with no escape from self.

Today in my last day in Saint Augustine. I got much accomplished on this trip, but little rest.  All my goodbye letters are written, the envelopes addressed, sealed and stamped - to be mailed when my parents find them after my death. The best of this trip was seeing Robin.  I even wrote her a goodbye letter. I've been thinking about her way too much, weaving unrealistic daydreams into childish fantasies.  But these thoughts allow me to escape, however briefly, from the burdens of my suffering.

My suffering is killing me and it is a slow and painful death - am tired of being a good suffer.  Only seven weeks remain of this deep, dark and horrifying nightmare before my journey into the great unknown.

2:30pm   -   Monterey Inn   -   Saint Augustine, Florida

contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com




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