My Obliterated Place

I haven’t written in a few weeks because I can’t seem to write this post right. So I resolved to writing a list of all my thoughts because it somehow makes writing about this subject easier. Fair warning the material is intense and sad and probably terrifying to anyone who reads it. The truth: I’m depressed. It makes me feel weak and I’m afraid that being open about it will make others think I am weak. But writing about it is also empowering because then my grief doesn’t defeat me and it doesn’t suck my soul.

  1. I am sad and I am heartbroken. I would rather feel what everyone else wants me to feel which is anger and hatred and yet I can’t feel either. Why can’t I feel that way?
  2. Sometimes, I trick myself and others into thinking I’ve made progress. I am adept at making it look easy because I do everything I should be doing. I’m active, I go on dates, I explore, I spend time outdoors and with friends and family. No one who doesn’t know me well enough ever sees anything more than a happy, smiling girl. This is a façade. A big fat façade.
  3. Regardless, I have to figure out a way to come to terms with where I’m at. Things fall apart. They will fall back together. They have before and they will again. They already are.
  4. 26 – It’s the age at which everything in my life has forcibly changed. If I could peel back 26 and then 25 and 24 and 23 and 22. I would. I would peel it all back and reverberate back to the day I could choose the path I was on or choose the one I took. I wouldn’t have chosen either. I would have forged a third path and created a new adventure. One that lets me skip all the shit of 22 to 26.
  5. The other day, my mom told me the story of her hair dresser whose mom has a brain tumor. The tumor was removed with surgery but later it came back and invaded parts of her brain that the doctors can’t operate on. This woman’s tumor has completely taken over her mind to where the woman this family has known for so long is no longer recognizable. She believes her husband of 37 years is evil and she’s so incredibly scared to be alone with him. She tells him she hates him and refuses to let him help her. She doesn’t remember her eldest daughter and calls her a liar when she tries to show pictures of their life growing up. She only remembers her youngest daughter, this woman who cuts my Mom’s hair and who recently had a baby and who took the baby to visit her mom who steadfastly believes her daughter stole the baby and thinks she should give it back. This sweet, wonderful woman her family has known their whole lives is no longer present or sound of mind and in fact scares everyone to the point they think she may actually hurt someone or worse herself. This is suffering. This is pain and its grief. And it is far worse circumstances than my own. And yet – I still ask why me? You may wonder the significance of this story but when I think of my grief and how selfish and foolish I feel this is what I think of.
  6. Many days (like today) I have to remind myself that everything is going to be okay. I tell myself that I am loved. So incredibly loved. Even if another person does not love me back and instead loves someone else, I am loved.
  7. This morning I cried for two hours curled up in the fetal position on the hard wood floor of my parent’s bedroom, crying so hard and deep and gasping for air all while my best friend sat silently on the other end of the line and didn’t judge me or tell me I’m better off or to get over myself. When I say that I am loved, this is love. The “I’m here to share in your shit even though I have no idea what to say or do except to sit here and let you cry” kind of love that only comes from friends who know when to say something and when to just let you be when you are pinned by your own suffering. The kind of friendship where no words are required, just presence.
  8. When I feel this way the only thing that saves me is to breathe. Deep breaths in and deep breaths out. I did this for a long while. Even after said friend was off the phone. I lay on the floor and I watched the fan as it went round and round just focusing on my breathing. This is what works for me. Eventually I got up. I always get up. I always get going.
  9. I’ve resolved to writing letters to myself everyday in my promise to Elizabeth Gilbert to be so good to myself. Today I wrote, “I’m sorry your heart is crushed. There are better days ahead. There is better love to be found.”
  10. I actually believe that too.

 

Advertisements

2 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

2 responses to “My Obliterated Place

  1. Dawn

    Girl, I don’t know the details of how you got where you are and don’t need to unless you want/need to share. But here is what I do know- 22-26 can be tough years. I made lots of bad choices/judgment calls in those years and landed myself in a similar boat. But guess what? In you is so much courage and strength and love- more than you even know exists, and one day, the clouds will begin to part and your days will be brighter. I believe this can happen for you! Keep feeling, keep being, keep breathing, keep sharing. May you find the strength to reach out for help and hang onto whatever you can grasp onto because when you get through this it will be so worth it!

  2. Dina

    Lindsay,

    You are incredibly loved. Do not forget that. The person that hurt you does not deserve you. You will get through this.

    Love you dearly,
    Momma

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s