A few years ago I had the most painful encounter with myself.
I was in a horrible place, and it was the first time in my life
that I knew what it was like to not be able to be anyone but me.
It does to me.
I think there have been so many times that I am removed from
myself, that I never really had an opportunity to experience that
feeling. As I write about it now, I am thinking that it may have
been a good thing that I felt that way, although it certainly did
not feel that way at the time. Not in the least.
I wanted so badly not to be me. And the only way that I could
come up with was suicide. I didn't seriously contemplate it.
At least not for more than a moment, or two, any way.
It was a horrible, soul wrenching time. In some ways, not unlike
what I feel at times these days. It is like my soul is excavating.
It is getting stuff out of me. Awful stuff. Dark stuff. Sad stuff.
Painful stuff. And when it surfaces it is traumatic.
I was talking to someone who has had several heart attacks.
She is someone who has a lot of pain, too. When I have asked
her about letting the pain go, dealing with it is the farthest thing
from her mind. According to her, dealing with it, facing it
would kill her.
Given the way much of what has been surfacing with me has
been feeling, I can certainly understand it. It does feel like the
world is going to end - or that it should.
I can understand why no one would want to come face to face
with their stuffed down stuff. It gets stuffed down for a reason;
it is much to painful to deal with.
Recently I have been saying that I think the body may talk to us
because we aren't "listening" to the things that we need to be
listening to. Is it "true?" Who the heck knows? But I am going
to go with the idea that it is at least possible, and am going to
keep encouraging my mind to be open to hearing the things it
needs to hear, and dealing with the things it needs to deal with,
and ask that "we" refrain from the physical possibilities.
And see what happens.
I really feel like I want to put my head in the sand today. I am
feeling inadequate. I had big time reservations about getting
back into the world because I knew that people would expect
things of me, and from me. I don't know that I am really ready.
I get such a sense of anxiety when something is expected.
What if I can't deliver?
What if I forget?
What if I misunderstand?
We don't live in a world that is very understanding. We live in
a world that expects perfection where there is no such thing -
even with those who are "healthy."
Part of my story at the moment is what I am dealing with now.
My story is on-going. It didn't end when chemo stopped. I don't
know when it ends for sure, except perhaps when I take my last
Therapists have talked to me about a "new normal." It is really
more a "new me." I really feel sometimes like I don't know who
I am any more. The things of me I used to be able to count on
aren't there - at least not in the same way. And the things that
were me that weren't so great are amplified.
I guess it is a good thing there is no sand around.