I have had three nights alone, my son away with his grandmother.
Tonight is the first time I have cried at all since alone. I haven’t even cried about what happened in so long. My tears these past 15 months have only been tears of frustration, anger, overwhelm and panic.
It feels like there is a malfuntioning security perimeter around the deepest center of myself. It is on lockdown and I am locked out. The months of anguish over my circumstances and surviving financially have done something to me…something not good. Living in chaos for too long has eroded a feeling of stability. I know my feet are on firm ground because God is with me, but my feet are so callused from walking on shifting pebbles that I can’t feel the ground…I only know it is there.
I wish I knew how to break into myself to release the crap I don’t need to carry around.
Not even two minutes after I posted this, I caught a dim reflection of myself on the side of my wardrobe. Suddenly I was over come with the words, “it’s okay to feel sorry for yourself”. Permission. Then I gave myself permission to follow an unusual urge. I got down on the floor, I pressed my face against the side of the wardrobe and cried. I put my hands on the wardrobe and held my reflective self while I cried.
A thought occured as the tears subsided: I have never not been a witness to or victim of emotional abuse. I was fed crap growing up and the more crap I ingested the weaker I became. The climax was the abusive crap Hyde fed me under the guise of love…I nearly starved to death in my soul.
I need to think about this more and try to see if I can evaluate sources of crap that are lingering still.