You know, I just realized something. Well, I have been “uncomfortable” with “polluting” my metaphysical website, which I have had for many years (I know I don’t update it much), with my unending grief. But I had a revelation. The subtitle is The Journey Home. This is part of the journey home, for me. Maybe for you too.
This has been a very bad day. I am rather calm now, not cheery but calm, but today has been awful on a scale of 1-50 with 50 being the most awful. I have cried out loudly, wailed, and such begging Erin to tell me why she left me. Why she left us. Begging for my suffering to end. I am suffering greatly. I’m sure you already know that, though, so no news flash. Maybe I didn’t know how much I was suffering though? I thought I had hit rock bottom already, and maybe just stayed there. Nope, I hit a new low today.
I wish a lot of things, like that I was a drug addict that could just get high and forget it all. That I was comfortable numbing myself with anti-depressants. That I had it in me to become an alcoholic. Yeah, when you sober up your grief is still there but hey, I could check out for awhile or if I took too much, forever. I wish I wasn’t a strong person. Yes, I appreciate you all reminding me of that but you know, in this situation it sucks. I don’t want to get back up from this like I have gotten up many times before in my life. There is nothing to get up from, now. My joy died with Erin. I can find solace in helping others, but not joy. I can keep myself busy but I don’t see myself truly enjoying anything. I still have some realm of emotion, but it’s overshadowed by sadness. Seriously – how do depressed people live like this?
As long as it was an instant death, I might even welcome being hit by a car while checking the mail. But I have this damn drive to do the right thing, and so I can’t cause my own death because then I just have to start this crap all over again in another lifetime. Or I screw myself with bad karma. Or maybe I just find out that hey, I actually did have something important to do and now the whole universe will implode and that’s on me. That is what would be my luck. I also don’t have the energy or desire to go on a drunken or drug fueled binge, or whatever just “insert here.” I don’t have time for that. My fate is to sit here and suffer, and occasionally get the energy to wonder loudly WTF did I do to deserve this.
At lunch I listened to a radio show on Hay House that talked about raising your consciousness. How am I supposed to do that? Hell, I wasn’t just stopped in my spiritual tracks, I was knocked down to ground zero. I have to start all over again I think. Maybe that’s not a bad thing if I could look at this without bias, but from where I sit, it’s hopeless. I need a shaman or a monk or someone to look inside of me and tell me what I am missing. I feel like I just want to pack it up and walk out into the desert to wander for the rest of my days. Because I know I won’t be lucky enough to die of thirst or get eaten by some desert monster or something. That is not my luck. Nope. For some cruel reason, I am here to ENDURE. I know that. I don’t like it, and it sucks.
Some of you may wonder why I would be angry about being strong and durable. Well what has it gotten me except a lifetime of anguish? I survived a childhood that I won’t bore you with, but it sucked a big one. I grew up to be functional but royally F’d up in the emotions department. But I married a wonderful guy so you’d think we’d be happy right? Not when you are F’d up emotionally. Then skip along to having to take responsibility, as an only child, for my dementia ridden mother who I don’t really even like…and my only child who I love dearly dies. In all of this I have striven to be nothing but decent and of good character, to make amends for my past wrongs, and to be better every day. And this is what I get? Seriously universe, you screwed me. I am resentful right now. In 10 minutes I will not have the energy to be and I will cry again.
I work from home so it is a blessing to be able to write and for you to be on this journey with me reading. The irony is, I don’t’ want to be alone so much, but even if I had an office to go into that wouldn’t work out so great right now either. It’s embarrassing to cry at any given time and this grief thing is sort of private, too. So I cry to myself, to the house, to Erin, to the air, to the dog and cat, and I write. Even phone calls are hard. I don’t answer most of the time. Leave a message but unless I’m forced to I probably won’t call. I will text, email, instant message but not call. I don’t know what point I was trying to make there, but…
I keep hearing “Grief is a process, not an emotion.” I guess I am going to have to go over and over this in my mind in order for my heart to hear it. If it’s a process, it is a journey. I don’t know where home is but dammit I don’t want to go anywhere else after I’m finished with this journey. Just writing this paragraph has got my throat chakra vibrating like it wants to scream.
I got interrupted by a work related call, and have now lost my train of thought. I got a tad bit irritated and that seemed to channel my emotions for a few minutes. But I can’t live my life angry any more than I can live it sad. Maybe this evening will be better, but I’ve lost my optimism, too.
