I use to call you whenever I want.
I use to see us together again.
I use to dump all the thoughts and shit that runs through my head non stop, in your lap and talk about it for hours, from every angle.
I use to feel such comfort in having you there, to tell me no matter what, “It’s OK girl, I love you and you still got me.”
Those are magic words. I never knew that not hearing them after five and a half months could hurt me so very badly.
When things in my life happen, it hits twice as hard, because I don’t have that special, amazing someone to remind me I am loved.
Don’t ever think you didn’t matter to people, because I can’t even begin to tell you what losing you has done to me. Like yesterday the owner came in to talk to me about some heart tins I want to order for your memorial. I felt bad for him as we were talking stickers, I felt myself feel it all as I said your name and birth/death dates should be on the bottom sticker. He looked at me and said, “You’re emotional”. I said, “I know, and I am sorry.”
This morning I went in and I don’t know why, but I was uncontrollably sobbing about you. Like the loud and hyperventilating kind. For a while I was alone in the dip room, and I went to a box of meltdowns and just beat the fucking shit out of them, leaving them in little tattered shards of beautiful beesewax. Afterwards I just said accusingly, “I FUCKING MISS YOU!”
This is probably a horrible thing to admit, but I have been thinking of when I get your ashes. I want some to go in the ground, in a tree I could plant. I want some to go on a memorial necklace that will have sick n sin engraved on it with your “dates”, and the last thing I was thinking of doing will probably gross the world out and set me up for horrible scorn, but…well, I was thinking of snorting a line of you.
I know that is way, way, way fucked up of me to even say, but I miss you and want you with me so bad that in a state of grief, it seems perfectly normal and acceptable to my fucked up state of being lately.
With growth, come growing pains.
With ownership, sometimes just comes pain.
The company I work for is AMAZING. We recently were awarded the highest rated green award for our recycling efforts. I am proud of this.
The owners and management of my company, are also caring and compassionate. At the moment…I am really appreciating this fact. Recently, a good friend’s mother passed away. I asked the owner if we could make some memorial candles for my friend, who also happens to be the company’s tax preparer, along with how I got this job. They of course, went out of their way to do it, and then because of the companies relationship with my friend, did not charge me. Here is the final product:
After giving them to my friend, and seeing how much her whole family enjoyed them and are planning to order more for the entire clan, I was proud. I also started thinking about my grandson that passed away. As I have wailed and stated repeatedly, I never got to meet him during his short six month life. I never had anyone call me grandma, I never got to smell him, or look in his eyes, have him grab my finger, or watch my daughter become a mother. There is a lot of pain there and as much as I have not felt it…I did something without thinking how it would make me react.
I decided that I wanted candles like that, to give my mother, my two sisters, my daughter, myself and my ex-husband. Yes, I am including my abuser, he lost a grandson too. I spoke to the owner this morning and asked him if I could order six similar candles. Of course he asked questions and so my story came out. It was a condensed version without all the dirt. He expressed his sympathy and said they would do it for me. I was happy. I felt like I was doing something that made me own the fact that for once, for a short time, I was a grandmother.
I sat down and continued working. Then I realized my daughter told me my grandson’s name. His first name. I don’t know his middle name. I can assume his last name. I have ONE picture of him, I stole it from the father’s FB page. I have to go to my sister, who is the only one who met my grandson for more photos. All of it hit me, and the tears started. I sat, crying, processing candles while blind with tears for two hours. I kept working as long as the tears stayed silent. When the sobs started in the bathroom, I found my manager and checked out, grateful for the compassion that I am not always sure I deserve. (See that? How easy it is to slip in to old thinking?)
As I am feeling these emotions I have not yet allowed myself to feel, I also am asking myself what the tears are for? Are they for my daughter and her loss, or are they just selfishly for myself? Is it wrong of me to ask my little sister to get my daughter and my older sister their candles, and not tell them they are from me, or this is where I work?
My first “want” when I left work was to call Mr. Yummy and look for a band-aide, but that is an old pattern. I decided to come home, FEEL this and write, burn my Clarity scented candle and center myself back to the now.
I felt my growing pains and didn’t stuff them. I think this is a good thing. It hurts, and it sucks, but I did it, which must mean I was ready to feel it.
One thing I know, the love and support of my friends and family, is a very nice offset.
You have to do what you’re doing and get through it before you process it.
Someone said this to me recently, and it keeps ringing in my head because that is what I have been doing since March of 2013. It is at the point now, where it is really wearing thin on me. When this ends, I feel like my whole body; core and all will release an earth shattering shudder.
Some of the processing has started, but it isn’t comfortable here so I keep it to a minimum. The biggest thing I have learned is that perhaps I went a little crazy when I decided to live my life in the energy of love, but I did not become mentally unhinged and I am not unstable. In fact, my going crazy caused my instability to stabilize. I just stood inches away from an ugly, distorted face, screaming at me that I am a bitch, a horrifying bitch, a fucking whore, a bully, and accused of “beating her up”, and I didn’t fucking react. ME. I may have raised my voice assertively, but I didn’t scream, and I have never hit, touched, pushed, nor beat up the ginger. I have excelled at walking away over the last year.
Now, how do you project love, back at someone who so obviously has no self-love? It has been really difficult, especially when I am walking away thinking, “You horrifying mentally unstable red-headed cunt! I want to bash your face in with a steel chair! Just shut the fuck up and stop the flap trap nagging!” I think though, that as I sit here this morning, it kind of dawns on me that I know her traumas. In fact, I have been pondering using her traumas against her just to shut her up the next time she decides to start nagging at me. For me to ponder this, is s testament to how far she has pushed me, because I know I would have to say just two things in order to snap her like a twig. It would be very, very cruel of me and I honestly feel bad for having had the thought, but this is my reaction to living with an abusive, miserable, and hateful person. I can only be called a bitch, whore, or bully…so many ways before I am tempted to give her what she wants. A horrifying bitch, might take her seven thousand dollars worth of receipts and go to the IRS with them to inform them of some unreported income, as well as report the income from a catering gig for a friend and tribe member of mine.
I have done none of these things, and it comes to me that maybe all I have to do is see her traumas for what they are. They are where she is stuck. I lived my life for over a decade, trapped in my traumas. It wasn’t until I lovingly released them that I found my peace.
I can see her as a human struggling for something she doesn’t understand, and I can feel empathy and love for that person, but I still have some issues with the screaming bitch that likes to plant herself in my face and hurl hate. Living in love, doesn’t entitle others to treat me like shit and expect I’ll just keep turning the other cheek. I am allowed to ASSERT myself and if need be, DEFEND myself.
I am very proud at myself on more than one level for not dancing the dance Ginger wants to dance. I’m also proud I haven’t bought into her bullshit list of who she sees me as, because I understand when you are stuck in the roll of the victim, you see everyone as your enemy, even those who initially wanted to be a help.
There is a heaviness. I’m dancing and dancing, and yet I am not shaking it from the tree.
I feel assaulted.
I can’t imagine this was intended, but abandonment lurks beneath the surface. I feel discarded and disposed of, and it hurts.
And the anger. The appropriate anger, I deny myself. So I fester.
This isn’t healthy for me, and yet I won’t cry it out, or scream it out. I have repeatedly tried to handle myself with grace and compassion, and in doing so…I get none back.
You selfish fucker. And I won’t say this to your fragile, emotional being because I care. I don’t want to break you.
One day, you WILL have to own your actions, and then it will be for you to deal with. I’m sure I will forgive you. I forgave the guy who broke my eye and left me with an implant. You just shattered my heart and though I feel an absolute fool for trusting you, I don’t regret being open. I guess I just regret I bought the lie, because you weren’t truthful.
I need to take a load off.
I think if anything, your words telling me how you never wanted to hurt me, haunt me. That feeling I had, wrapped in your arms, believing your words of love and protection of my heart were sincere, now make me sad. I don’t WANT to be sad, and I don’t want to feel disposable. I won’t be these things.
Not for long anyway.
God I just want a hug.
We spoke this morning and your shit rolled out onto me in waves. I walk away with this incredible sadness.
Most of it is for you, some of it is because of you…if that makes sense.
I am sad that you have become the energy that you are resonating at. You ARE so much more than that and yet, you just don’t fucking see that. To talk to you really drags my energy down, dangerously fast. It’s discerning.
I suppose that is why I contact less and less.
It makes me angry to know that there is a part of you doing this on purpose. I DO get it, and don’t like it, but must accept it.
I know what I have to do, and you do too. You’ve only been trying to get me to accept it your way and I have been refusing.
Today I accept that YOU are going to do it your way and I am going to do it my way. I have to, because I can’t hate you. I can move beyond so many different old negative reactions, except the one that I call hurt. As I start to allow myself to examine that hurt, it becomes clear. As things become clear, it will be easier to do what I must do.
I’m not going to stay here for long.
I’ve been given a gift of contrast and I need to examine that too, in order to reconcile the account and make it balance again.