Yo-Yo-Carousel

12 Dec

This week has been filled with extreme highs and lows: the disjointed dance of those brightly painted horses on a Carousel, alternating up and down in a steady and stomach churning rhythm. My emotions are caught within a yo-yo spin of grief and joy; I feel them reeling and straining, bouncing and recoiling, stretching and shortening – a furious, screeching cycle beyond my control. It occasionally dwindles to a painful, sluggish pace only to accelerate into a maddening dash towards… I have no idea.

Where am I heading? What’s the point of this experience? How can I stop the ride and walk away?

I have no idea. About anything, least of all myself. I am in orbit, dragged by a gravitational force from the smallest, blackest, burnt out remnants of my soul. My inner core lies exhausted and scarred with a map of ruptured hopes, dreams, loves and self-esteem. Try as I might, I cannot heal my own worthlessness. I cannot heal what’s broken. I am not whole. I am not in control. I am not fixed. I am still damaged and broken.

I have fought against so much since October 2012 and while I confess that I am much improved in my demeanour, thoughts and actions, I still do not belong. There is still them and myself. I am so alone and in a state of constant flux, spinning from happy to sad, confident to worthless, hopeful to suicidal.

I will not try to kill myself and I refuse to die, yet I know that I am better off dead. I would be better off under ground, encased in Earth, with bones and flesh rotting in tandem, feeding the insects and sating the hunger of the land. I belong to Death. I have never belonged anywhere else and I never shall. I am spinning away from my own needs and desires… perhaps that is why the carousel never stops; why my emotions still yo-yo upwards and downwards with dizzying intent. Perhaps I am meant to follow my heart and meet my death, instead of running from my desires.

I suspect that as long as I live, I will always feel out of place and wrong. I doubt I shall ever lead a normal life, because I still feel inferior to everyone else. I cannot shake off the wounds from the past, and I have instead adapted to their presence. I feel like a lesser version of my old self and the problem I face is that my old self was always deemed to be worthless by others. What hope is there for this new, broken version to find acceptance?

My therapy session on Tuesday was brutal and I know much of my current anxiety stems from that experience so I can only pray that my emotions will level over the coming weeks and the Carousel grinds to a relieving halt. I believe this ride is possibly a rite of passage for all those seeking help through therapy. The cleansing of a wound almost always stings and perhaps this week marks the sterilisation of the past and a route towards a less painful future.

I do not know. Perhaps that is wishful thinking. All I can do is push forward and brave each low with every high.

Crashed and Burned

12 Dec

I have crashed and burned. How I shall get back up after this week remains to be seen. I am bloodied and wounded, but I shall find a way to rise.

I hear the whispers from Death calling my name and I long to run towards his outstretched arms. I long to be caught within his icy grasp, where Life cannot burden my being and the pain of existence is healed into an eternal numbness. I yearn so vehemently to be where I belong, yet I am obliged to live and put my faith in Life.

I will not betray my duty.

I will stand beneath the warmth of Life’s gaze, until his scorching breath incinerates every cold desire I still possess for Death’s frosty embrace. I am here for a reason: my family. Their joy must be protected and I cannot default my life without jeopardising their happiness. I am caught in the realm of purgatory and I wonder if this bleak existence is not my first life and merely an extension of a soul being punished for past sins.

I am so lost and falling; deep into the abyss from which I have sought to escape time and time again. I thought I had achieved my liberty yet here I am; weepy, low, annihilated, and suffering. When will this nightmare finally end? How much more can there be left to endure? I cannot bear to face another year of this misery, yet I know I will do so if that’s what it takes to keep my family together, healthy and happy.

Looking Back With Gratitude

27 Nov

It would be easy to assume from my writings that I loathe The Forgiven One. Surprisingly, I do not. I love him as one loves one’s family: unconditionally and with frequent exasperation. I am not in love with him yet I love him as one of my own – in spite of all the harm he chose to inflict upon my heart, mind, soul and overall existence. I admit that I’m not sure if I like his character – it is difficult to admire one who deceives and backstabs another without displaying any form of conscience – but I do care for his wellbeing and that of his family. And thus I find myself looking back with gratitude for the few positives experienced during our time together. These are the memories upon which I choose to dwell and carry forward, because there is no denying that gratitude is appropriate for some of his actions.

My therapist once questionned my loyalty towards him and my answer was swift and certain: I was grateful to have him in my life throughout years of undiagnosed Endometriosis. The Forgiven One was there for me when I needed reassurance as a woman that my constant pain, bleeding, medical appointments and surgeries did not negatively impact my status to the opposite sex and, most importantly, to him. He found me attractive and I needed that confirmation. I needed him… because I loved and wanted him.

To his credit, he never once made me feel bad for being ill. He never complained nor marginalised my pain. Yes, I shielded him from the worst of my condition, but he lived through enough of it with me to know that I was suffering. Of course, should I analyse the situation deeper, I could wallow in melancholy and argue that my illness suited him: it allowed him the freedom to run off to Bromley and into the arms of his secret lover (the ‘internet ho’ as I came to know her). However, to do so would be unfair… he was at no point obligated to remain in my life. He chose to stay. He wanted to stay. I realise that and I am grateful.

He did not abandon me during the development of my illness. That, I believe, is a fact to celebrate and treasure. It is one of the few actions in our history which indicates that his self-acknowledged “black heart” once flushed pink with love and concern for my being. On some strange, basic level, he cared. He actually cared.

Depression sits like a fog over happy memories, shielding them from the eye and creating an ethos of menace. Since my depression began to lift, I am starting to acknowledge some of the blessings with which I am bestowed. These include the gift of memory and I am glad to recall reasons to feel grateful instead of dwelling in the gloom with reasons to want to die.

A Sense of Perspective

26 Nov

In October 2012, my entire life changed after I was backstabbed and branded “worthless” by my closest friend and cherished lover. In the two years which followed, I lost not only my sense of perspective but also my confidence, sanity, health, family, friends and self-worth. In truth, he had been eroding my self-esteem deliberately for years before October 2012; I just placed myself in denial and made excuses for the man I loved. And myself. I was full of excuses for my own poor choices.

I know I was wrong to remain within a damaging relationship but I simply couldn’t bear to walk away. I was too weak. When I finally uncovered the truth and realised that I had been played for a fool for over five years, I was engulfed by an extreme grief and self-loathing. I became suicidal for so long, I forgot what enjoying life felt like.

Until now.

It took months of mistreatment, and my mother to be diagnosed with Cancer, before I started to regain some perspective… and pride. I also had to beg for a change in medication; put myself under the supervision of a psychologist; try to kill myself; even have a full-scale mental breakdown. It took all these terrible things, and many more, for one truth to emerge: I have not changed. Underneath, trapped beneath the weight of grief, I somehow managed to retain the core values and morals which define my personality, actions and beliefs.

I temporarily lost myself beneath the rubble and carnage caused by betrayal and depression, and it was there, pinned amongst the debris and ashes where I somehow remained: waiting for rescue, still holding on.

A portion of my being still lies trapped: you could say I am a disabled version of my former self. Yet, I feel so overwhelmingly relieved and blessed. I accept that a part of myself is forever lost amidst the rubble, but who I am as a person – honest, compassionate, helpful and inherently good – has managed to crawl back to civilisation. I am a different definition of “whole” but I am still my whole self in terms of my conscience. I am not evil and nor am I unbalanced. I am someone who has suffered and survived. I am real. I am vulnerable. I am normal.

I am normal.

Thank God.

What I Learned From Swaptober

26 Nov

I would urge anyone going through a rough time to try out their own version of Swaptober. The benefits of introducing positive change to my routine have been both surprising and uplifting. I am in a much better place since the start of October and I have learnt many things from which I can draw strength and courage. Here are a few of the lessons learned:

- I am not worthless to everyone
– I enjoy being challenged
– I am surrounded by good people
– I can still attract the most gorgeous guy in the room
– I have no limits
– I still have my sense of humour
– I am loved
– I am appreciated
– I am not permanently detached from my libido
– I still have compassion
– I still have trust issues… and that’s okay because time is on my side
– I still have faith and love God
– I still have bonds with my family and they’ll never break
– I have genuine, amazing friends
– I am still creative and resourceful
– I am still capable of being the best I can be because I haven’t lost the best in me
– I am grateful, for everything, even my experience with The Forgiven One
– I am no longer in love with The Forgiven One (he’s simply not good enough)
– I am falling in love with an incredible man but I fear getting too close (it’s going to take a long time to get over my past but I’m heading in the right direction)
– I am not holding grudges… God bless all my enemies (I have more than enough blessings of my own)
– Self-worth is measured by my own yard stick, not the views and actions of others
– I am not a loser
– I am missed by many since going into hibernation and they all welcome me back, no matter what
– my life is not a curse
– I can live through the nightmares for as long as they wish to stay (I rule in daylight and as long as I can stand in the light, I can see beyond my bad dreams)
– I won (the battle and the war)

Feeling Grateful

25 Nov

Thank you, God for always being on my side; for never allowing me to fall low enough to lose the way back upwards. I am so grateful.

Much has transpired in recent weeks and all my hopes and dreams are starting to manifest beyond the confines of my brain. The biggest blessing of all is the realisation that I am beyond lucky to not be saddled with The Forgiven One. I would have been doomed with a future in the arms of someone money-hungry, egotistical and narcissistic.

I was deeply saddened to hear that his girlfriend’s mother died last month, leaving her orphaned and and stuck with The Forgiven One as her “family”. I am sorry to say that he is more likely to love her inheritance and the lifestyle it will afford him more than he will ever love her. It was only back in July when he was swearing that he wasn’t in love with her, not even after sleeping with her and going out with her for so many years. That poor girl… orphaned, and stuck with a man that selfish. No woman deserves that.

I feel genuinely horrified for her but intensely relieved: thank God I am not her. I feel grateful beyond words. I am worth so much more than a loveless lie: caught in the arms of an opportunist who can’t cut it on his own and uses others. I bear him no ill will – good luck to him – but I recognise without a doubt that God must love me deeply and unequivocally to have spared me from a future with such a weak and ugly man.

There were times last year when I lost my faith but God and time have both been patient and kind, guiding and helping my return to happiness, always ensuring that I would be spared from my worst nightmare: a loveless future. That’s exactly what a woman can expect from The Forgiven One and I am blessed to have been worth enough to be spared that sorrow.

Thank you, God. I love you.

Forever.

Sorrowful News

22 Nov

My friend’s father passed away this morning. My heart bleeds endless anguish for her loss, seeping into my veins to poison all happiness. I long to save my friend from the pain of loss but I am powerless to stop the inevitable progress of death and time. How I wish I could spare every living being from the suffering of grief.

I was held captive for too many years by Grief; choked and dying beneath his merciless hand. The road back towards life and living was the worst journey I have ever undertaken and my heart spills anguished tears for the familiar path sprawled before my friend this evening. The only road back from grief passes directly through the furnaces of Hell. Yet, I am living proof that it is possible to survive the journey and return to some form of happiness.

No-one knows that I have returned as something else.

A part of my soul died during its epic battle against Grief. It was the part of my soul that was inherently good. I cannot vouch for the skeleton still standing: bones adorned with flesh are worthless without a heart open to love.

My life is happy but Grief still prowls and circles around my broken soul: the wolf is hungry and I remain on guard. Should I allow it, the melancholy triggered by my friend’s loss and pain could plunge my being back into the suffocating, fiery furnaces. I can see the blood-red flames exploding into the darkness each time I close my eyes… a frightening inferno blazing the path back to Hell.

My life will always be a trapdoor-filled maze of hidden sorrow and it’s all too easy to fall into the abyss.

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