The things that frighten us just want to be held.”
Let’s not bury the lead: I’ve been struggling the last 12 days with depression and yesterday morning, for the first time in eleven months, I woke up actively contemplating suicide.
First, I long to be held and to be seen, to feel her, taste her, touch her and to hear her. The possibility of rejections frightens me.
Maybe that is why I ran…
Two weeks ago I watched as © shuffled past me and ran into the arms of another Hero she loves.
I’m deleting years of my life with her to reflecting a place of radical acceptance and embrace the truth of impermanence.
I can feel the one year Destruction Day stalking the holidays for me.
I thought I was simply grieving and sad.
However, after two hours of sleep and six hours of insomnia the year caught up with me. For the first time yesterday I found myself restlessly tossing about in the bed, in one more Airbnb, depressed, and actively contemplating suicide.
The irony of depression is, you know it, you can name it, you can feel it, you know it is there, and there isn’t a fucking thing anyone else can do to make it better.
All I can do is get into the car and drive one mile further away, one more night alone, one more fucking coffee shop. Most days I strive to be alone because of the energy people take from me – stiff upper lip and all that jazz.
People only want to see the mask.
I cannot outdrive depression, loss or grief. I’ve tried. The Pain constantly rides shotgun.
Despite the distance, intention, and effort I remain a wreck…333 nights and days today. 21 states, 60K+ miles. 4 seasons. 250 hotels.
Countless meals alone. Not a word from C in nearly eight months as my heart bleeds out.
Avoiding eye contact. Afraid the simplest kindness will result in one more awkward emotional breakdown conversation with a waitress, desk clerk, on more than one date.
Aren’t I a fun date?
I try not to imagine what Thanksgiving will bring. It seems so far away but it isn’t…I dread the holidays. I have no home.
I struggle with finding hope or meaning. My heart is a stone…I simply wish to go home…but I broke it and that truth is not lost to me.
Might as well be K’un-Lun. Might as well be Atlantis. Might as well be YoYo Town.
I’m going to counseling, I’m dealing with my shit, and I have friends and family that love me and don’t judge me.
They’ve consistently made the ride with me and shared their truth with me. They have held nothing back. They have sought to help me heal by sharing their vulnerability with me. They remind me that power and self-respect is recovered by looking inward and by holding closely what frightens us.
I’m not running. I’m not hiding. I’m not blaming. I’m holding what frightens me.
But I hurt…
I’m not looking to be fixed or saved. It isn’t C’s responsibility to help me heal or look out for my well-being. This is my path and however it ends, it will be defined by how I respond to it.
There is no wrong answer. I simply need to say this out loud and hope this vulnerability helps someone else.
I hurt and I am adulting…
I know like so much, I accept this is my life and I acknowledge that all of this is temporary…and as long as I walk through it I know there is something more beautiful on the other side…
But there is not enough morphine in the world to numb the self-inflicted pain of loss some days and on those days I’m left to hold my heart alone and acknowledge it is but a stone.
I admit that I need everyone when I fall through. I confess that I need to hold nothing back when I come upon you struggling in the hole of your own making. How I need the skill of heart that lets love meet truth like small lights on ice. In the truth of each other, there is a way out.
~Mark Nepo, Three Intentions blog
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