This blog is all about me. If you can relate to my writing, that's great! This is a handy tool I use to process emotions no matter where they are on a scale of one through ten. At times the writing will be blunt. Other times, poetic.
I made a promise to myself that it will always be real.
I have an all cotton blanket that's close to me in bed.
I hold onto it tightly as I rest my weary head.
It catches all the tears that fall and never gets too wet.
My blanket is my security and that I don't regret.
When feelings overcome my intellect and strange things start to happen,
I try to curl up in my bed and wrap myself in cotton.
Two months ago a fetal position was a safe place to be,
But that was way before I had back surgery.
Now I curl up by folding my arms across my chest,
Bending my knees and hiding my eyes seem to work out best.
When emotions are raw and I struggle to stay alert,
I reach out to my closest friends cuz I know that they won't hurt.
My blanket is my closest friend, it's true for me to say,
That every time I need my blanket it never goes away.
To my pastor: I'm pretty teary these days. My heart feels broken.
From my pastor: I'll be praying for you, dear Heart.
To my best friend: I hurt, I'm crying and I feel broken.
From my best friend: you’ve been pushing pretty hard lately, but doing G-R-E-A-T!! Maybe a little warmth and sun will do you some good. It is a beautiful day. God is gluing together the broken pieces – of all of us – day by day! Forgetting what lies behind, looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the UPWARD call of God in Christ Jesus.
To my dear friend: I just feel like crying with all this stuff.
From my dear friend: I'll call you when I get back. I'll be praying for you. Rest in Him, dear one.
To a friend: Today I am grieving the loss of my cat (Smudge) and the death of Aaron (my nephew). I have been crying most of the morning. The grief book I'm reading said to take a risk and let someone into my space, telling them how I'm doing. I've done this with my daily life friends and now I bring it to you.
My heart is broken today. Pieces of me are wandering around in depression, sadness and a deep sense of loss. The shock is wearing off and the reality of such pain is finally beginning to surface. I'm not denouncing or trying to stuff these feelings in any way. I am learning to welcome them as a temperature gauge for healing.
From that friend: I'm so sorry to hear about Smudge. Pets are such wonderful gifts . . . their presence, their antics, their unconditional love (at least for dogs!) . . . and it is such a loss when they're gone. I trust you're sensing God's presence and love during these days. He knows . . .
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, "On Death and Dying". Below are the five major landmarks most of us will pass on our path to healing.
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Sorrow and Acceptance.
I'm learning I (and many others) do not feel those in that order. Sorrow seems to be the steady feeling thus far. Some anger but mostly sorrow. How can you lose so much in such a short amount of time and not feel sorrow? I get angry at what's happened - the deaths, the losses, the limitations - but it seems to hide the deep well of hurt and sorrow.
My posture is bent over, I hold the stress in my back which is trying to heal from major surgery six weeks ago today, my blood pressure is up, my appetite is down and all the while I ask God, WHY? I hear the echos in my head that tell me all the proper Christian answers but none of them bring me closer to my Heavenly Father. I am tired and I am weak.
I want to go home to be with Aaron, Maryla, Cathy, Smudge; to be completely healthy without pain or suffering; to be with my Abba Father; to be set completely free from this body and from this life. It's too difficult.
I am sad. I am burdened.
I have hope. I have help.
I grieve loss.
I suffer.
I am loved by God, my Everlasting Father.
Only He can help me through this until the bitter end.
For He is the one who created me and knows me by name.
Not only have I lost people, health, job and pets but I lost my purity at the hand of an alcoholic. I was very young. I hid my sorrow deep within and vowed never to let it out. In 2006, I began the "mid-life" crisis. All of those sorrows began piling up all around me. There was no escape from the hurt all those pains caused.
Some of the signposts have been illegible; others have been as clear as a cloudless blue sky. Some have gray swirling clouds ready for tornado touchdown; others are as unreachable as clouds in the upper troposphere. Some signposts have words; others have pictures; and still others are yet to be written upon.
I've read that burn victims have a greater chance of dying from infection that gets below the burn rather than from the burn itself. In order to prevent this from happening the burn must be scrubbed regularly which causes the patient a great deal of pain. It's said to be one of the worst aspects of the healing process.
Scrubbing was not my thing. It never had been...until now. I have too much pain beneath the surface to continue ignoring its effects in all aspects of the life God has given me. It effects sleep, hunger, energy, mood and friendships. I've read the grieving process is not neat and clean. It takes time; often, lots of time. It is intensely painful and at times, gut-wrenching. We often feel numb, outraged and confused. But most of all, we feel hurt.
Jesus had his three, his twelve and the multitude. I've identified my three, almost have my twelve and the multitude is an ever changing group of people. Each relationship is different. I hope my three continue to grow with me and I with them. Each of us is evolving into who God created us to be. With all sincerity, I hope my three never leave. I love them very much and will forevermore.
What do you do when you tell one of your three closest friends the above statement? Do you fear their response? I did. Here's a message one of them sent me:
"You are a marvel Amy; I admire your steadfastness and longsuffering. I will be praying for relief for you from your distress. I LOVE YOU!!"
Puts it in perspective, doesn't it?
In therapy I offered to write about the little book I'm reading entitled, "Grieving the Loss of Someone You Love". I'll start at the beginning with the Introduction.
I feel too injured to be helped. Like there's nothing left to do but put me out of my misery. I'm frightened and want to be held. I want to be given a sleep-inducing drug that will swiftly move me from life to death in an instant. Never to return, never to hurt again.
I postponed feeling the death of four people, my health challenges, loss of job, one pet death and one pet missing since August 2008. I am tired, worn out and now my therapist (and I) think it's time to talk about the grief, my self esteem and my identity. What an enormous task.
I would describe myself as terrified, afraid we're going to fight, afraid I'm going to walk out and afraid I won't be put back together at the end of each session.
For each of these life events I've felt vulnerable to feelings of loss and isolation, loss of self control, powerlessness and the need to self injure by cutting or suicide.
When does it all end? When I begin to let the chaos in my head reach down to my heart. As is said, that's the longest distance in the world to travel.
What do you do when you feel like cutting?
What do you do when you feel like crying?
What do you do when you feel so much loss?
What do you do when you can't pay the cost?
I think all the sadness is hitting me today. It's not like any other day except my feelings are strong and my ability to navigate out or through them is not as clear. It's as though I have a train in front of me and I'm trying to push it back so I don't get run over. Trampled and crushed. Flattened and dead.
There is no light at the end of the tunnel today.
Only rocks and stones and darkness and cold.
Raging thoughts, hurricane feelings and tornado sirens in my head.
Sirens or signs? Winds or insights? Water or hope?
