Being Broken

It took everything to just write this sentence. Those of you who know me know that I am never, or rarely, at a loss for words. I have so much bottled up inside that I can’t even begin to express it. There are moments of insight, gratitude, clarity and the need to share that with you so that you can perhaps gain the same. But most of the time it’s just a living hell that I prefer to keep inside. Being broken is exhausting.

Before any of you tell me I am not broken, I am. There are two predominant world views in our world. One is that there is a god figure who exercises his will over everyone incarnate here. The other is that we co-created this journey before we incarnated to learn valuable lessons. I guess you can throw karma into that mix, but either way, this existence is hellish even for the most privileged of us. And it has broken me. Last night, I cried out with my inner voice intuitively that I am in over my head. I was surprised to hear that, but knew it was true. I don’t even know anymore who I am talking to. Or if anyone is listening. It’s as if I’ve been abandoned.

I suppose you can also say it’s darkest before the dawn. Dark night of the soul. Blah blah so on and so forth. My night keeps getting darker. You would think in year 5 that it would be somewhat better but it’s definitely worse. I keep it inside so that you don’t have to make nice about it when you’re really just uncomfortable or bummed. Also, I’m tired of hearing it from myself. I’m so tired of feeling literally the shittiest that I can feel during every waking moment. It’s exhausting.

I’m also at the point that any commitment that I make beyond my daily work life generates a panic attack. It doesn’t matter if it’s something that might be fun. Once I say yes, it then becomes a burden, and since I don’t want to disappoint anyone I perpetually stress over it. I just let go of Noom, which is an app that helps you manage weight loss. It was actually a decent app, but I had to pay for the service, and I was assigned a coach. That was too stressful. I need to just be left alone. I also formally bowed out of being a block captain in my neighborhood. The idea of being required to go to a meeting, or have to plan an activity, was too much. I just can’t.

Work is very busy but I don’t mind the stress. I’m fairly good at my job and enjoy it, and it has nothing to do with family or children or grief so I’m in another world there. Same with playing video games. When I’m doing Destiny 2, I’m not me for the duration. I’m shooting aliens or some asshole guardian in another activity. It’s a pleasant escape. Television has become less of an escape. I honestly cannot deal with the cancer commercials, the Humira commercials (long story), or a lot of the content. I seriously do not need someone else’s sad story, or anything that will generate crying or stress. I have plenty of that.

Why am I telling you this? I have no idea but it’s flowing out like I turned on a faucet so I guess I needed to express it. I keep saying that this is not right. THIS – this grief. No one should have to grieve, to be separated, and I don’t accept that death is part of life and that we have to chase a dangling carrot for eternal life. That’s utter bullshit and while I can’t prove it to you, I’m telling you that this dream we live is some sort of prison. It’s a prison that we are supposed to figure out how to make the best of. But why? I have no idea, but I keep expecting to find the key to the elusive doorway or perhaps the off button. And I fully expect to wake up to a room full of loved ones who ask what took me so long.

But the time is killing me, both literally and figuratively. It’s been something like 1600 days since I’ve seen Erin or heard her voice. No, I do not watch the few videos that I have of her, and I don’t look at pictures (very rarely). It’s too painful and there is no way that you would be able to understand that. I cried so much the first two years that my tears burned my eyes. I found out that’s a real medical thing and met another poor lady who had the same issue. They still burn on occasion. Who knew I could cry daily for this long? Again, it’s exhausting.

I’ve been wondering what I could do here to get back to teaching, to writing articles on metaphysical topics, to contributing positively to other lives. I have no idea though. I heard someone on YouTube say yesterday to focus on the things you can do something about and positively contribute to. Otherwise let it go. I can’t even positively contribute to grieving people unless it’s by telling the truth. The truth is, you will never feel better. You will never stop grieving. It’s a living hell, and you learn to live with it somehow. The best you can hope for is to be able to add value to someone else’s life because yours is over.

It’s not that I don’t feel joy, or laugh. I do, but even then my next thought is who isn’t there to share it with me. I am sure I’m boring you, I’ve said these things before. The only difference is that I’m not crying this time as I write them. I’m becoming a master at stuffing it and that’s not healthy but it’s survival.

And just like that, the flow is over. I started Blue Star Services (the former name) so many years ago for a reason and it was to provide services to others. Service to Others. And I haven’t forgotten that. In fact, it’s been on my mind lately. Maybe that means that I will get back to business (pun intended) soon.

Peace, blessings, and please be kind to others <3 And #missingerin <3