My Writing. My World.
“Sometimes when you are quiet, it feels loud to me,” my friend messaged.
That comment from a week or two ago has stuck with me.
Even though I still haven’t responded to the message.
Even in my ongoing silence.
A silence not meant to keep others out, but to protect what is left within.
To guard the little that remains.
Keeping myself safe because it no longer feels safe anywhere.
Anyone else wake up with an emotional hangover this morning?
And maybe a weird pain in your left eye that you can’t quite figure out?
I felt like I was in a fog for the second half of the day yesterday — my morning’s work woes quickly forgotten in their irrelevance and sudden unimportance in light of what was going on in our country.
I got my heart broken a few weeks ago.
Like, really broken.
Ever since then, every time I get in my car and the car starts playing my music automatically, one of the songs that’s on our shared playlist comes on. Even if I’m deliberately trying to avoid our shared playlist. (Unless I want to get the feels out and then it’s super effective at triggering the waterworks.)
These days, I almost always have my music on random shuffle. I like playing musical roulette and letting the Universe tell me what it wants me to know through music. Except that game isn’t so much fun when our shared songs come on constantly, with little to no regard for my feelings if I’m in carpool or at the Starbucks drive-thru or when my kids are in the car with me.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I’m not the mother you wish you had. I’m sorry I’m not the friend I once was. I’m sorry I can’t accept your lovely offer for a date yet.
You see…I am trying to keep my head above water. But the undertow is strong and it’s taking all of my strength just to keep treading water.
It’s taking every moment of every day to just look for the good. Just to see the tiny bit of light.
I thought this would be my year of healing. But instead of reaching the end of the dark night of my soul, I fear I have seen only just the beginning.
