I remind myself every day
There’s an entire mantra involved
Yet, as disgusted as I can be with this…
Everything still holds. As if I’m immersed and
sinking, all the while trying to let it all go
unable to reconcile what it feels and what I think
we’re torn.
The perfect time?
I’ve never believed in such a thing
If you can’t grow and have balance through growth,
how can you grow successfully. What moves you to open
your heart, your mind, and yourself to new possibilities.
There’s a lot of complicated feelings wrapped around you.
Regret, pain, bliss, hope, love, disappointment, worry, excitement, passion
I want to get to a place where it doesn’t hurt anymore.
Hurt to care, love, look, speak, or even hear about you.
I want to get to a place where nothing phases me or moves me
just so that I can have what I want from someone who actually
wants to be present.
It wouldn’t be gradual, I’d just wake up and notice, and I did. I went to sleep crying for you, I woke up and felt indifferent to the memories that pulled grief from within me. I didn’t submerge into the pain, skate past it, or even dip my toes in to see how it felt today, I didn’t feel it at all. The same thoughts came, and I paused. Waiting for the aggressive pangs to strike, but the petal that hung on for you shrugged off and drifted to decompose with the other parts you’d picked off of me.
I never noticed how often I said those words, until I was saying them and I didn’t mean them. Then it became a consistent reminder that I’m not. The closest person I would talk to, I’ve walled out because I can’t depend on them beyond a few minute text conversation. And that’s not wholly their fault. They have a life, and their life was turned upside down. Most of us can’t manage our pain, disappointment, failure, and still help someone else. Especially if we feel like we’ve let that person down or are constantly hurting them.
Even while I am understanding, emotionally I couldn’t care less. I keep saying I’ll return when I get these results but I know that’s just another lie I keep telling myself. Most likely. I’ll hate the test results, and it’ll be more emotionally compounded constipation. Because it’s gotten so bad I can’t manage to release anything even when I’m alone. Give me a sad movie. A sad clip. I’m bawling like someone died. Otherwise. I’m stuck. I tell myself to let it out. But the disgust has developed a fine taste for the word no.
It’s been waiting for the last two years to have this chance again. And I looked it right in the eyes and gave it full reign. I knew I could control it. I know rage. I’m cool with rage. But. I’ve been out of practice. And with the rage I feel, that’s dangerous. I’m cracking around the edges. I’m leaking everywhere.
I had fully accepted I had an autoimmune disease by 2016/7. Around that time, I had also decided to learn more about it, start being vocal with my primary care physician. When I did, he looked at me and with a crazy look on his face, he told me I was incorrectly diagnosed and that there’s no reason why I should believe I have an autoimmune disease. It shook me, but I was elated. No predisposed hard pregnancies, no degeneration of my body or mind, and more than anything, it meant whatever was going on with me had a higher chance of being cured versus managed.
That day is forever etched in my memory, but the emotions attached to it have changed. Now it’s anger instead of joy, fear instead of peace, and pain. Pain at the realization that I have to reaccept that all of the issues from before, were now back on the table. That if I were to get pregnant tomorrow, there is an 8/10 chance my child wouldn’t make it to full term because of how high I tested. That’s my reality right now. My reality is that I’m processing all this information and I’m doing it alone. No one to share it with, talk about it with, and just be with. All this pain is mine.
Wanderer 