“Good God, what have I done?
Gone and left the only one
That ever really, truly, deeply loved me
Honestly, how stupid could I be?
My poor heart your demons want
You turned dark, picked out a gun
In the incapable hands of your master
Downworth spiral, bound for disaster”
“You are not well.”
My mind calmly reiterates as I run my fingertips along the cement wall.
So rough.
Yet resilient.
Places where harsh blows leave fragments of dust scattering in the wind.
Only my ring finger falls into the indention.
Leaving a slight powder on the outer right fingertip.
I stand looking at the rubble for a second before the sun begins to dance again.
Sheets where the grooves have been worn smooth by environment.
Cold even on a hot day.
I place my palm against the stone.
So steady.
Foundations can be found.
“You are not nearly as lost as you may think.”
I wonder how long it will be able to withstand the storms of life.
My favorite part is right where the sharp edges jet out.
Unworn by sun and wind.
I like the feeling of the slight sting as I run my hands along it.
Rubbing off my fingerprints as slowly as my grief erodes from the inside out.
Almost as if I am losing my identity in search of my existence.
Question?
Is it my grief eating away at me?
Or more?
I wonder, how I have teetered on the edge of this abyss…..
For so long now.
Stagnant. Terrified. Isolated.
Peering over the edge.
Just as the wind blows sending me in the fetal position over and over again.
Will I ever feel whole?
For all my bravery I still feel stuck by a million forms of fear.
“Good God, I have regrets
Was too hard, I couldn’t forget
And this love for me was much like a father’s
Mandatory care for a daughter”
Last week challenged my very core.
I spent much of my time crying.
Windows rolled up on a beautiful day so I could scream.
I heard that familiar gag building.
It is nothing more than my essence scratching her way to the surface again.
That freedom of release.
In this very primal form.
I minded not that my throat ached, my voice raspy, my head pounding from the force of anguish.
As my knuckles whitened on the steering wheel I felt an almost out of body experience.
Hair falling in front of my eyes already squeezed tightly shut.
Deep breath ……..
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AH AH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”
Veins in my neck popping.
A mixture of sweat and tears falling randomly.
Release these demons.
They serve no purpose.
These excuses of self-hate will no longer be accepted.
The following morning I parked my car near an open area of land in the middle of the forest.
The sun was slowly washing over the shadows of night.
I walked forward.
Directly into the dew covered blades of wild grass.
Again I was searching for gravity.
For Earth.
For stability of any kind that would allow me to hold it.
Something I must learn to manufacture independently.
I had no fear of snakes or bugs…. To my own surprise.
Laying on that cold muddy-ish ground the only warmth I felt was that of my own tears.
This obsession with the cold grows with each snap.
Do others long to numb themselves so?
Manic depression……
So a part of my realm last week.
“You are enough” I whispered on repeat knowing that not even God could save me in this place.
I needed to get back up.
A grunt and ouff with a quick wipe off and I was back to adulting.
Tears seem unending.
I’m so lonely I don’t even want to be with myself anymore.
My grief surrounds me like a murder of crows.
I can see only glimpses of light as they move closer to encapsulate me.
Their caws no more than the alarm of impending destruction.
“Things end
From lovers to friends
I’ll call him
When this painful part ends
When I’ve felt every possible emotion
Cried enough to fill up an ocean”
“You are not well.”
Just be with me in this space.
It will last but a minute years from now.
Song credit: Maria Mena “Good God”
The Optimistic Widow 