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 dayPretending 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 fallingand falling, falling down my faceand onto my shirt;I'm a slobbery mess inside and out.
I am not at peace.
I wake from dreams where I am weepingonly to realize it is only my heart grievingOverwhelming grief for the loss of a dream gnawsat every shard of gladness that dares cut through the pain.
I am not happy.
This mother's heart laments the freedom lostto choose how long to always be there for her childrenwithout 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 friendscauses more suffering than it is worth. This crippling silence might be hurting me morebut I don't have the strength to move out of this place.
I am not comforted.
The tears, they well up so quicklyinto a flood that washes over meHurting at the beginningyet 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 raceI cannot get it to stop thinkingit is a race horse pushing to the finishit cannot stop, even for sleep,or it might not make it to the lastmost important partor has that part already passedand 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 sideeven when my rawness made them uncomfortableand sometimes speechless.More than a few have left me by the waysideto fend for myself, exposed and aloneRealizing 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 wellof salted tears makes my head hurtin advance and makes me want to cry morefor all the love there is in the world,When will the tears quit falling down?
I am courageous.
Questions rushlike a river down a rocky ravinelike wind through cottonwood trees on a warm summer daylike words from the mouth of a confused eight-year-old girllike traffic on the freewaylike students in the hall right before class startslike tears that come from a broken heartlike wishes blown into the breeze from a dandelion tuftlike are you getting divorced? from the mouth of my boylike a wildfire down a brush-covered hillside.But, time is holding its breath, nearly standing stillwhile I find the wordsas if everything rushed so I could stop to savor the painof 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 realizationsof 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 foundI 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 besearching for an non-findable abstraction.Oftentimes, I think I could beoffering too much and too little of myselfat the same time. All the time, I know I want to beloving someone
who loves medeeply
eternally
gratefully
faithfully
undeniably
passionatelyromantically
wholeheartedly and all the whilein realityknowing
I am worth it.
a compilation of writings
from February 9, 2012 through April 2, 2012
related links:
I Will Survive
Broken Hearts Heal
Word of the Year: Broken
Source: twowritingteachers.wordpress.com via The Purple on Pinterest
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