They come with a vengeance, and most times without warning. It’s Friday night and I’m on the couch, not knowing what to do, where to go, or whom to call. I’m sucker-punched and down for the count, in fetal position. A pain that moves around inside me, not limited to one localized area, but alive and mobile, is ever-shifting. I don’t know what’s more frustrating: having to endure such an ambiguous affliction, or not knowing exactly where to point when asked “where does it hurt?”.
(Or more importantly, “how do I make it stop?”).
I find myself taking deep breaths as often as I can, as if large amounts of oxygen that is directed into tissue, muscle, and sinew will somehow absolve the ache away. I pray that the pain exits my body on the exhale…
It doesn’t.
Okay. I get it. I understand that this separation is supposed to be difficult. I understand that I am to be made stronger because of it. But I’m exhausted and it all just seems so redundant. I can’t seem to find any peace; I am angry all the time. I get it. I understand. Enough!
I want to have a fully-functioning heart. I want to know happiness without the tinge of sadness lingering behind it. I want to be asleep at night, not wide awake at 3 a.m. struggling to decipher these feelings with words and definitions, trying to pinpoint, to dissect, to break down into smaller sections so that they are easier to swallow. I want to get in my car and start driving and never stop.
You see, I don’t trust the mirrors here. I am not this person. This person looks at everyone around her with a condescending eye, one that is always thinking, ‘you don’t know what sacrifice is.’ I suddenly feel like the world owes me something. I hate this about myself and I know that this is not the way to be. There is so much more, so much worse, all the time… the way I feel does not make the rain fall. Ugh. Pathetic. Everywhere, all the time, someone is going without, someone is having to endure. I am not the only one.
But Christ! I AM thankful, and I AM enduring, and, yes, sometimes I allow myself to lapse into this blinding selfishness. And I do know better, but sometimes I just don’t care. I just have to get it out. A cleansing catharsis, I guess, however ineffectual.
Has only four months passed? Time is so vast and overwhelming, there is just so MUCH of it. And though it is a comfort that it can only move forward, my strength is not by merit; I’m left with no other choice but to endure.
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