I have learned that I CAN get from here to there without hurting myself...and there is no such thing as "water-proof" mascara

It’s a wonder to me why my heart keeps beating – I see it as a burden most days…I cry, I scream, I grieve, I hurt. I have no idea what happened to my mind; I think perhaps I left it in the freezer behind the frozen blueberries.

I realize everyone has sorrow and hate and rudeness in them and we are all capable of doing things we never thought we would do.   And I also understand that we all have kindness in us too, and that's the part we have to hold tight to when the pain feels all-consuming.  I know that life is not fair, or just –and I know that, like last night, even though I rant and rave and scream and cry; if I just hang on  by my pinky nail, I can get through it without hurting myself because as hurt and angry and confused as I feel most of the time, I do not have to hurt myself like he hurt me. I’ve realized that crying is a pretty inexpensive hobby and I also know that there is no such thing as water proof mascara. Really…there is no such thing.

I live with ghosts ~ ghosts from my past that haunt me every night. I used to not believe in ghosts but the truth is, I see them at night…sometimes out of the corner of my eye, inching toward me as I curl into a tight little ball and hide under the covers.  And I know that ghosts can hurt me and that I cannot ignore them, but instead, I must face them...as painful as that continues to be.

And therapy…Gawd! Therapy! One of the things that surprises me is that it doesn’t get any better…at least not so far. The further you dig, the more you reveal, the worse the wound hurts.  But I've learned that if I want help, I have to trust my dear therapist, and I have to be willing to share things that hurt and bleed, things that are full of shame and pain. Before this “round” of therapy, I used to view the world surrounded by a sea of apathy. I could always keep up appearances but as for feeling? Well, all *feelings* just fell into the sea before reaching me. And now I am surrounded by a sea of pain and grief. It’s a strange realization, after spending so many years not feeling anything at all. It’s like looking at your hand and discovering you have an extra finger; it must have been there all along, but you’ve never noticed it before. 

I sit here at gloomy grove, crying my eyes out from the pain, screaming my head off from the betrayal. And I tell myself over and over, “Things will get better – just hold on – you will see a light, you will find some relief.” I have cried enough tears to solve any water crisis! I don’t understand how parents can treat their children the way mine treated me and I don’t understand why I have continued to treat myself in much the same way. I don't understand and I don't accept it. I don't know if I ever will.

I spent today alternating between crying and screaming to hate music as my children innocently played in the snow outside, oblivious to the terror currently reigning inside of their mother. I love them so much, as long as I'm alive, they will never know the pain that I know…they are why I am still here.

And I am still screaming, silently: Help me find my soul. Tell me I have a heart. Tell me I am not crazy. Tell me I will be okay. Please…someone HELP ME!