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What I Meant

I can’t remember when I wrote just those three words, but the feeling is still lingering; subtly, but still there. 

Still.

Can’t.

Write.

It looks like …. still can’t write.

That isn’t what I meant.

I feel as though my memory kind of fades in and out. It’s amazing what I can remember, and it’s astounding when it comes to what I forget. It’s has most definitely been a means 0f survivial and once feeling like a curse, it is now the biggest blessing …. being able to forget. Not forget my niece, but forget the time we are without her and waiting. Forget the memories we have missed making, forget how I cried so much that I had to stop because my eyes hurt so bad I didn’t want to even open them.

Something magnificent has happened to me, and although I can’t explain it, I feel better than I have ever in my entire life. Puzzle pieces are coming together and staying on lock and the very thought of that is simply delicious.

All that being said, three small words, that actually spoke volumes, are better to be revisited and clarified as to prevent confusion between a statement of despair, and a statement of reclamation of self.

When your heart is aching, it is necessary to readjust, reevaluate, and you’re in constant reconnaissance mode.

You never clock out, and you never tap out. 

Because of all that, sometimes, you need to be still. And because of this agony, I have had to learn to be still, and force myself through sitting still and just ‘being’.

So, just because I’d like to be understood, here’s the breakdown ….

 

> Still.      As in stillness, ‘ being ‘ still. Deep silence or calm, not moving or making a sound.

> Can’t.      As in being pulled in a million directions, by a million people wanting a million different things. So many things to do, and although I do them, I feel as though I ‘ just can’t’. Or at the very least, have to talk myself through and pray myself through.

> Write.      As in I’ve been manically writing. Just not writing about this. I’ve been pouring dreams, explanations, and information into journals , in a random sort of order. My most beautiful of memories are suddenly coming to me in my dreams once again, and it has been like getting to experience those perfect moments all over again. Not surprisingly, the more I write to get it all out, the lighter I feel, and the better I’m sleeping.

I’m learning to be still. I’m learning to push though the ‘ cant’s ‘ and feelings of ‘ I don’t want to. ‘ I find myself smiling and laughing and playing. I get midnight milkshakes. I look for rainbows and rays of light through dark clouds. I’ve been writing about the best and most amazing things I’ve experienced, and who I experienced them with. Too many good times to count and my dreams are now something I look forward to, no longer afraid to fall asleep, nightmares no longer haunting me.

I’m putting pen to paper, not fingers to keys, and it’s a totally different sense of ownership of my own feelings. I’m learning that it’s okay for me to have some. Both good and  bad. I understand and reluctantly accept that light can’t exist without darkness; and that darkness can’t exist without light. I’m finding the beautiful, I’m finding the blessings ….

 

Even When I Close My Eyes

It always hurts.

That monster of emotion always ready to devour …. can’t ever get away from it.

It finds you in the abyss, even when you’re lost yourself.

It sucks the life out of you ever-so-slowly.

It takes the energy from you, draining your life’s blood.

It is madness; manifested from mind to real life.

An ocean of distance isn’t enough.

Even when I close my eyes and try to escape it, the darkness of it all clouds my memory. In my mind it almost looks like Polaroid’s being taken too quickly and being thrown to the floor. They come too fast to catch and handle. They land on top of each other, distorted.

Everything is upside down.

This rocked our entire universe and drives me within an inch of the edge more often than I could ever admit. I can’t count how many times I have said, “I just can’t do this anymore.”

Nobody really understands.

Nobody really knows what this feels like.

Nobody knows what it feels like to be betrayed by neighbors/friends, and stabbed in the back by childless strangers.

Nobody but us.

Now the question is, when will my niece know?…..

 

 

 

 

Because, It Just Hurts So Bad.

The ups, downs, and all arounds of these emotions has been a beast. 

Surviving it has been exhausting, confusing, infuriating; although I don’t in which order.

It’s hard to feel good, or even accept the goodness that is coming my way.

I smile, then I feel like I shouldn’t. I feel bad, for feeling good, and that in itself is a whole other big thing. Something else I don’t understand, and wouldn’t want to if I did.

I laugh, then my memory gets triggered, and I cry until my eyes get swollen. I didn’t know you could cry so much that your eyes literally get so puffy and red that all you want to do is put a cold washcloth over them as you collapse into your protector’s arms.

I’m a writer, and I haven’t been able to write.

I’m a lover, and I haven’t been able to love.

I (  and all of us ) have been utterly consumed and paralyzed by this grief, this sadness, this need for answers, this hope for justice.

I haven’t written much at all lately ( a first for me ) because I can’t.

I can barely put two thoughts together, never mind trying to covey the deepest sorrow of my being from feeling to paper.