Tag Archives: self-exploration

He’s Won

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More tears.
More anger.
Unending darkness.
Feeling hopeless,
worthless.
Alone.
The things that brought me joy
can no longer reach me. I try
but nothing gets done.
Take some pills they say.
They’ll take the edge off they say.
I give up.
He’s won.

 

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I’m thinking of taking a break from this blog after never missing a daily post for the last four and a half years. I can’t see what purpose is being served by my sharing here, as my sharing has heavily centered on grieving the loss of my marriage for over a year now. I want to contribute to the happiness of the people on this planet, not their sadness, but by sharing my sadness, don’t I amplify it? Has it been selfish of me to share publicly in this way and to let you know that I’m suffering? I honestly have been hoping that my writing here would bring me some relief, but I take no joy in it; it’s something I make myself do—and how inspiring can words born of that mindset really be?  If my words don’t inspire, I don’t want to inflict them on anyone.

I feel burdened by life, consumed in a darkness that threatens to blot out all memory of happiness and love and light. A mighty battle is being fought within me, a battle between darkness and light—and I’m not feeling confident of the outcome.  Both of my kids noticed.

My six year old son said, “Do you know what my greatest enemy is?”

“What?” I asked.

“Losing you,” he said.  I cried.  We were in my room looking at a Divine Feminine oracle deck while my daughter was bathing.

After she was out of the bath tub, the three of us piled into my bed to hang out while I brushed my daughter’s hair. After I was done brushing, she got up, looked at me with her eight years of wisdom, and said, “You know people die of sadness?”

“Oh really?” I asked. “Can you tell me more about that?”

“People can get so sad that they…just…die. And I don’t want that to happen to you.” I cried again.

My children nestled their heads against me and I stroked their hair while I cried more.  I felt like a piece of shit for not being able to just buck up and pretend I’m fine…so that they can know they’re safe in the presence of a strong mother who has it together for them—or some bullshit unreasonable thing people keep telling me I should do so that my kids don’t get traumatized by my depression. It’s great to be quite literally dying of sadness and then have a critical voice remind me that I’m selfish and should be a better mother and put my children first instead of wallowing in self-pity.

I’m fortunate in that my girlfriend Lucy is flying me out to CO to get away from this home where I lived with my husband and children for three and a half years. Too many memories.  Too many triggers.  My children will be in Utah with their father and his mistress.  He’s taking her home to meet his parents.  We’re still married, and I’m struggling to find my will to live each day.

I can’t know that this isn’t the best thing for me. So many people have said to me He gave you your freedom.  Someday you’ll see that and be grateful for it. But I’m not sure I’m going to make it to someday. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll make it one more day.

I’m considering taking a break from this blog while I’m in CO from 7/21-7/31.  I’m thinking of taking a complete break from everything I normally do, pack very lightly, and just be really open to what might arise in the space of not planning and not knowing.  What I’ve been doing isn’t working. It’s time for something to change.

Perhaps a change of pace. A change of scenery. A change of faces, and smells, and sounds, nothing familiar to trigger the cascade of sadness that hasn’t stopped flowing for a year. I’m bleeding out emotionally and the situation is dire.  No one can save me but me and I have to choose to want to be saved.  I hope the mountains will return me to my sanity. I’ll keep you posted, let you know what I decide. Thanks for reading.

No Destination

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I keep wondering when I’ll be better…
I recently added a second session
of therapy within the week,
and that question
keeps ricocheting in my mind:
When will I be better?
When will I be better?
and I wonder then
Hey, what’s wrong with me now?
Is there something so wrong
that I need to work hard to get better?
And then I remember
Life is a process.
It is a journey,
not a destination.
This process of becoming—
a journey, not a destination.
Awakening to self—
a journey, not a destination.
Instead of getting better,
maybe I can simply focus
on living well.
I can enjoy the journey
and accept
there is no destination.

Feeling Funky

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I’m feeling funky
without any real reason.
I’m on vacation in paradise.
My family is here.
I had a good dinner.
Why am I feeling this way?
It must be my thinking.
Could it be I’m having
an unexamined thought
that is making me crazy?
It has something to do
with wanting connection,
wanting to feel seen, heard, understood,
longing to feel like I can relate,
longing to experience that my needs are important
in the eyes of others.
Also this could be PMS.
Yay.

 

Note: Every once in a while it feels appropriate to write about the difficulties I experience in my inner world.  One of the most common characteristics of depression is the belief that we are alone in this, we are the only ones in the world feeling this.  When I write about the challenges I have with my mood, it is not to garner sympathy or to make anyone feel sorry for me.  It is for those out there who are experiencing the same thing as I and who might benefit from learning that they aren’t alone in their suffering.

Breathing Underwater

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It began with multiple interruptions
to my morning meditation…
my son ran in the room
wanting breakfast,
and my husband wouldn’t wake up
to get the lad some food.
And so it fell on mama
to rise early from her cushion,
as she was attempting to awaken,
as her husband was allowed to simply sleep…
The stories about
putting everyone else’s needs before my own,
so many stories in my head
contributing to a dark mood,
repetitive thoughts,
and the noise from the outside world,
enough to make the sanest crazy.
There is no vacation from one’s darkest thoughts.
I haven’t had mind altering substances for years,
and sometimes in moments like these
I remember why I drank wine and beer.
But no more,
I made this commitment to being clear,
and that means diving deeper
when the water is dark and frigid
when the foreboding depths
seem to conceal
a terrifying truth…
There is no end to this pain.
Of course, I could also reason
that the deeper I dig,
the more space I will have to welcome joy.
When the light of awareness
pierces the murky depths
I might discover
there is nothing to fear,
I won’t suffocate in my pain,
I might learn to breathe underwater.

The Mean Time

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Without warning it returns
the depression, the rage
and my hormones betray me again
A friend reminded me
the last time that this happened
that it wouldn’t be the last time
that this happens
But knowing what it is
doesn’t make it feel
any less overwhelming.
I’m going to bed early
and trying to forgive myself
for all the times
I snapped at my children today.
I know this will get better;
it always does–
but it’s what I do in the meantime
(the MEAN time)
that really worries me.