Sometimes in life, I find myself hearing or seeing something that reminds me that we are all just connected streams of consciousness.
There I was midway through a stranger's publically posted suicide note, the words of a man I had never met, but in that sentence alone, I felt him so deeply it was as if we were one. I’ve written words that have carried the weight of that sentiment. They’re on my phone, in my notes, in a letter I have to my children called all the things I wish could have been…
I carry a lot of thoughts about myself that hurt. I carry some understandings of the world and how it works and that hurt and bring me more pain than peace.
I’m not sure what to do with them. I know that I don’t want them.
Granted, I understand that everyone faces battles and that there is no level of life that I would be able to achieve that would allow me to alleviate myself from the constant growth that life offers, and I truly do understand that.
There is a woman I know with all the things that my life is very much at this moment calling into existence, she has a home in the neighborhood, she has a husband, she has a body that screams pilates, and her bank account HAS zeros not hovering around zero. Yet, when she looked at me with my two babies, my heart could feel sadness. While I was giving birth to my son, she lost what could have been hers.
I could feel the weight of the inner story unfolding between the polite and evolved version she was telling me. We aren’t deep friends, we are a little more than strangers, but at that moment, I felt her heart. I felt her in expressions of my own longing. I knew the hurt and confusion that she was experiencing when all that you’re wanting seems to be wrapped inside the very thing that is slipping from your tightly clenched fist.
Looking and waiting for that, you’ve asked God and the universe to deliver on,, yet for whatever reason, it has not worked out in the way that you may have seen it coming. I don’t know if she was looking at me like I look at her,, but what if she was? Having kids came to me with the same ease that having a home, a husband,,, and money had come to her.
Maybe.
Puzzle pieces. Fractured pieces of a whole, scattered among the earth residing in different beings.
That right there was enough proof, for me, that there was no escaping the battles that life has in store for you. There was no level of wealth or poverty that will allow you to avoid the assignments that your soul has in store. There is no running from life, and yet still…
I AM FUCKING TIRED.
I am beyond it actually. Lately, my life has dealt me a seemingly never-ending stream of battles, of things to grow and mold me into all God has in store for me, SO THEY SAY, and I am fighting with every inch of my being to hold on until the day when they come to fruition.
I feel like the epitome of the saying “if it ain’t one thing, it’s another,” and I fucking mean it.
My brother says it just sounds like the support hasn’t been there for me. The grounding to weather the storms of life, be it internal or external.
I would agree with that.
I haven’t exactly had the character of strength that’s been so solid within myself to avoid getting swept up in the onslaught of “miriam you should…”, My adult self is strengthening to balance the weight of the words of disappointment held in my heart.
I grew to learn to take things personally—changes in tone, posture, or behavior… yes, all personal.
Trauma response, I know…I’m healing.
The barrage of criticism that has followed me, hovering over me like a pregnant cloud, the constant torment of the voice in my head that tells me I must be doing it all wrong, look at you. Would this happen if you were smarter, wiser, better…a deep shame for the being that I am.
I must be fucking something up, and my life is proof and punishment for the fucking up that I keep doing. It’s hard not to feel like the things that are happening to you aren’t you’re fault. There's a part of me that learned that I am always the reason bad things happen. If a bad thing were to happen, it was my fault, and if I were different or better, then those bad things wouldn’t happen.
There’s a real part of me that knows that isn’t so. That understands logically that’s a problematic way to see me, and I can even sympathize with others that let me know for sure I don’t carry that line of thinking against anyone but myself.
It’s been a year of deep healing and understanding for me, a year of understanding how truly lost and broken I have been. Just how long I’ve run and hid from who I am, but didn’t know it. How I’ve been ignoring a voice, I didn’t know to listen to.
“Heavy be the head the lays on your pillow, heavy beats the heart that beats in your chest, heavy be the rain that falls through these windows, trying to find the light in whatever this is…”- Ivy Sole.
Everything is heavy these days. Half the time, I don’t truly understand why people say life is a gift. Why are you so excited to get up another day. How could I? Every day I have so many battles to fight, so many, every moment stacked on the next. At the end of the day, I’m glad to lay down. In the morning I dread that I have to go through another day again. Where will my kids and I sleep? What will we eat? How can I make some money? Constant anxiety. Constant stress. Constant worry.
I hate it here.
I do, and even still, I give it another go, I stick myself in the ring again, and I take my punches and throw what I’ve got at the giant that pounds down on me… or within me.
I don’t honestly know how long I’ve felt this way, but it’s been longer feeling this way than I haven’t. I’m not just depressed; I’m hopeful. I’m not only anxious, but I’m also determined to be a prepared person. I’m more than resilient, and I am a deeply traumatized being that is healing and simultaneously coming into my own understanding of my consciousness on the heals of many years of not knowing.
Letting these words exist outside of my head is a good start.
