Rain clouds go away, come again another day

Sometimes certain things can't be filed away neatly and concisely. Sometimes, they just cannot even be filed at all. Their bigness leaves no where to put them. It becomes an open, never-ending pending file. Navigating that at any age is a learned skill, but impossible when we're young. All I knew is I wanted my loss back. Desperately. There was just no where to put it.

I willed myself to function. To move about in life.  Despite my outward motion, inside I was deadly still. Stuck is not accurate for where I found myself. I was paralyzed and in the darkest mire of  massive depression. That is THE trademark of grief and loss.  I was lost in the loss which makes it nearly impossible to find your way out. 

Edna St. Vincent Millay describes it best with her words;

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”

Holes are curious things. Why are there holes to begin with? They are curious too in their effect on us. We are not meant to live permanently with a hole. I know that very well. I tried filling my hole, drowning myself without care or even consciousness to the end result. My choices were leaving my life looking like a scene from the movie "Holes"  I was succeeding only at creating more divets around my original hole.

But then, grief is a hole with no bottom and slippery sides. I wondered if it would ever stop its relentless barrage. I wondered too how I would live if it didn't.

Wounds cause us to try to stop the trauma. And, I tried sopping up the gaping hole in my heart and soul with most anyone else. I didn't care one bit. Just wanted to deaden the pain,. To be validated by anyone. Sometimes it was with people that were close to him just to be as close to him as I could. I didn't care. Sex was a hollow diversion, but it never closed the gap I lived with. I didn't see much of that clearly or remotely emotionally intelligently at the time. Self preservation at its highest form can cross the line to very unhealthy. It's where I was.

It's odd to write about things that are not putting me in a great light. All of us, balls or not, have shit we just carry and don't speak of. I'm not unique at all. Human experience is extremely universal though very individual. Power is removed when we move it to the light. Empathy is grows when we speak our own raw and usually ugly self truth - when we expose our humanity at its base camp. It is always hard to peel back my cloak. I hold my cards tight and only a few know much of me. There is a mixture of fear of rejection, shame, and regret that gets buffeted against letting myself off the hook. I seek to encourage other souls with the fact that heartbreak is part of THE human experience. There is a work it does if we speak to it.

I had a lot of humanity. Lots. Humans can be oh so messy. 

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