Waiting in a room with chairs around a table doesn't sound so terrible,
Yet the trepidation in my mind surpassed incredible.
It is now beyond my wildest dream of sadness
The forces of two sides pitted against one another.
I am not property.
If ever a soul was grieved, it is mine.
If ever a heart crumbled, mine has done so.
If ever there was need of healing, it is in this very moment.
I am not loved.
Now I must go out into the world each day
Pretending I somehow fit in,
Somehow I believe this will all get better,
Somehow I don't have fear for the future—
for me, my disabled daughter, my sons, and my angry, heartbroken, little girl.
I am not present.
The tears just keep falling
falling down my face
and onto my shirt;
I'm a slobbery mess inside and out.
I am not at peace.
I wake from dreams where I am weeping
only to realize it is only my heart grieving
Overwhelming grief for the loss of a dream gnaws
at every shard of gladness that dares cut through the pain.
I am not happy.
This mother's heart laments the freedom lost
to choose how long to always be there for her children
without her time divided by a separate employment.
They all seem too young to have to leave them,
to spend time with other people's children instead of my own.
I am not ready.
I struggle with speaking about this tragedy.
Even writing it feels labored and strained.
My heart is afraid to open up.
Even just enough to seek solace from friends
causes more suffering than it is worth.
This crippling silence might be hurting me more
but I don't have the strength to move out of this place.
I am not comforted.
The tears, they well up so quickly
into a flood that washes over me
Hurting at the beginning
yet somehow healing in between.
I am not sure.
Numbness, quietness, dullness;
all eat away at the woman I want to be.
I'm a moth-eaten coat with no claim check.
I am not wanted.
My physical heart continues to race
I cannot get it to stop thinking;
it is a race horse pushing to the finish
it cannot stop, even for sleep,
or it might not make it to the last
most important part,
or has that part already passed
and it just doesn't know it?
I am not able to rest.
I stare off into the distance,
not knowing how to feel,
trying to silence feelings run wild,
running toward nothing,
hoping for something,
wanting peace and love and care,
wishing so hard that I ache.
I am not seen.
Breathing is what I do best now.
Usually, it is taken for granted.
Usually, it just happens.
Now, breathing almost hurts.
Now, remembering to breathe takes conscious effort.
I am not living.
When I stop to catch my breath, I ponder on how life has changed.
Where is everyone who began this nightmare with me?
A few have stayed loyally at my side
even when my rawness made them uncomfortable
and sometimes speechless.
More than a few have left me by the wayside
to fend for myself, exposed and alone
Realizing how solitary every soul can be.
I treasure up my faith like a priceless gift.
I treasure up any flicker of friendship I receive.
I am valuable.
When will the tears dry up?
The possibility of having an unending well
of salted tears makes my head hurt
in advance and makes me want to cry more
for all the love there is in the world,
When will the tears quit falling down?
I am courageous.
like a river down a rocky ravine
like wind through cottonwood trees on a warm summer day
like words from the mouth of a confused eight-year-old girl
like traffic on the freeway
like students in the hall right before class starts
like tears that come from a broken heart
like wishes blown into the breeze from a dandelion tuft
like are you getting divorced? from the mouth of my boy
like a wildfire down a brush-covered hillside.
But, time is holding its breath, nearly standing still
while I find the words
as if everything rushed so I could stop to savor the pain
of this poignant crossroads in my journey on earth.
I am free to choose.
This journey has opened my heart
—cracked it wide open—
exposing raw realizations
of sadness, regret, knowing, and hope.
I am able to learn.
Oh, this heart of mine will not be comforted!
It refuses no matter what solace there is to be found
I have faith enough to be healed
(or so I thought)
Or maybe this wound will become part of my faith.
It might teach me to take better care,
Better care of this heart.
I am loved.
If no one ever loves me again,
I want to love myself enough to keep expecting the best.
The best of everything is what everyone wants.
How will I obtain it?
I am capable.
Sometimes, I believe I might be
searching for an non-findable abstraction.
Oftentimes, I think I could be
offering too much and too little of myself
at the same time.
All the time, I know I want to be
who loves me
who loves me
and all the while
I am worth it.
a compilation of writings
from February 9, 2012 through April 2, 2012
I Will Survive
Broken Hearts Heal
Word of the Year: Broken