Wednesday 11 July 2012

Picking at the Wound

Ok, so, as my last post mentioned I was feeling TOO ok and not liking it.  Over the last 8 1/2 months I have had moments of reprieve from the intense sadness that I cloaked myself in since 21 October 2011.  Every time it felt like my wound had started to scab over and so I began to pick at it, poke and prod it....just to make sure it still bled.  Usually this will culminate in a session of uncontrollable bleeding, gushing forth like a fatal wound (metaphorically speaking of course).  So what did I do immediately after my last post?  I cracked open the book I read in the immediate weeks afterwards Widowed Too Soon.  And I noticed all the underlined sections.  Yes, even in my raw state, I was studying.  I needed words to describe what I was feeling.  I couldn't speak to anyone at the time because I couldn't form the words.  The author, Laura Hirsch, provided me with a voice during a time I felt vocally strangled.  As I retype some of these words to share with you I find the ball returning to my throat but we must remember where we've been and how far we've come.  Because although feeling 'ok' is scary and new and unsettling whilst on this grief journey, it is what we are striving for.  If not for ourselves, for the memory of our loved ones whom I'm sure are wishing us full and happy lives from beyond.

'In an instant, all my plans and dreams were gone.  The person who I thought I would share the rest of my life with, the person who knew me better and loved me more than anyone else in the world, the father of my future children, was gone forever.  The center of my universe had been yanked out of my life with no warning.  How could he just disappear? I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing him again....(he) had played so many roles in my life: husband, best friend, confidant, lover, advisor, protector, and provider.  I lost all these people at once.' (31)

'Detached from myself, I felt like I was watching this nightmare happen to someone else.  Life a broken record, I kept saying, "I can't believe this is happening." ' (49)  I still feel as though I'm living in a parallel universe.  That some how, some day, everything will all go back to normal.

'Even as harsh words spilled out of my mouth, I knew this wasn't the real me talking.  It was as if someone else had taken over my body. Then I would feel guilty...I know now that this is a symptom of post-traumatic stress.' (61)  I am sorry to anyone who bore the brunt of my word vomit.

I stopped underlining after awhile because everything felt relevant and personal and I'm pretty sure my pen would have run out of ink.  I'll be re-reading this book again and again throughout my journey because although it makes me feel sick to revisit those memories of the early days, I am conscious of how much stronger and wiser I am now.  P is still making me a better woman.  And just because a bit of scab is starting to show, does not mean the wound will ever disappear.  It may scar over, but it will always be a part of me, as will P.

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