I remember I felt it, but I can’t quite recall it. I’m glad for this, but I’m curious by it. What is it that stops us from pulling forward the fiery pit of emotions? I find myself musing on my emotional travels. Visiting my vault if you will. Checking in. Are they still there? If I push on them, do they hurt like a bruise? Can I slap them and make them sting? Or are they just dull faded memories of pain. Like the orange you’ve left in the pantry and forgotten about; resembling an orange but only in spirit. Shriveled and dusty with mold, dry as a bone and hardened like a rock. It doesn’t taste like an orange. In fact, you struggle to remember what that round, juicy, zesty flavor tasted like.
Do you remember those toy cameras where you put the round slides in and pulled the lever to see your photos? Click:View:Click:View:Click:View. That’s where I am. Processing. Watching the last three years of my life through a View-Master. Taking mental and emotional note of each memory. Forcing myself to take a measurement of, and responsibility for, each frame. Analyzing where I went wrong,what I did right, and when it took a turn. Looking at my roll in the story of my life. Dissecting it. There is no victim here. Nobody “did” anything to me. I always had a choice. I chose to stay, I chose to cope, I chose to fix it, I chose to commit. I made the choice to hide truths from my friendships in shame, in horror, in fear, in anguish and to protect. I made choices and am still making choices; to protect my sanity, my inner child, my friendships, past relationships and newborn promises. When do you let that go and how? How do you tell truth with compassion? How can a person tell their story; describe their pain, trauma and anguish and still protect? Eat it. Swallow it. Take it.
I meditate on compassion. I pray suffering to end and healing to begin. I hope for open eyes and open hearts. I embrace understanding, ownership, responsibility, clarity and honor.
Turn the page. Finish the chapter. Choose a new book. Deep breath in, cleansing breath out. Begin.
Wendie Gone Feral