Almost a year exactly since I've written here. Today, it's been six years since my beautiful brother passed. I wonder if he's proud of us all, if he feels his passing was not in vain if we've all learned and grown so much? We'd all trade the knowledge in a heartbeat if we could have him here with us, but we've all accepted that life doesn't always bring us fairness, what it brings is experience. We don't always understand, but we live on.
I haven't been writing here as much recently. I feel that even though my words are my own, and I should have free will to say what I want, I don't. I am fearful of people taking my words and twisting them into less than the pure intention with which they were written. I am fearful of people taking what I say, and judging me, lessening the beauty of my life experiences, the loving intent I have for each being that reads this or comes into my life. I realize that it truly does not matter if I gain the approval of any other human being; I have my own. I don't need to explain every single thought and emotion I have. Validity is not something I seek anymore; I want to share my experiences with others so that they might find their own validity in their own experiences. Life happens to each of us. How we deal with the situations in life is something that defines us, breaks us, reshapes us, bends us again, sometimes until we break. I have been so near the breaking point these last few years...not everyday, not even weekly or monthly or on any set time frame. But the beauty, vibrance and sheer wonder that I have experienced each day of this life, they are each a brighter and more brilliant fiber woven deeply into my life's tapestry. I feel so fragile because I'm allowing myself to FEEL. No more walls. I have no time for them.
Here are some realizations I've made this year:
When we grow so accustomed to hurting, we shut out love. Love becomes an unnatural, unwanted emotion, we feel numb where we used to bubble over with love. Passion for life, for work, it all becomes gray. You wait for the color to return to these things and it just doesn't come. The only thing that feels real or genuine to me is the love for my children. I can feel that; it is real. Their lives, their daily joys, these are the beautiful spots of my life now. I don't feel that what I do, beyond loving and raising my kids, has any value or meaning. I wax and wane in the degree of my conviction in this, but the conclusion is always the same. I feel I am constantly waiting. Waiting for pain to end, waiting for a moment of relief in my day. Waiting to discover what it is that will finally make me "snap out of it." Is this true reality? Have I seen the puppet strings to such an extent that I have even lost hope in hope?? These pages used to be so cleansing, so uplifting, if I didn't quite believe the words I was writing, I took consolation in knowing that, if I read them again tomorrow, I probably would. Now there is only observation. No strong convictions, no major remorse or sadness or anger or happiness or...anything. One thing is for sure...I used to be angry at God for allowing my family to suffer, for allowing me to suffer. I hate the saying "God only gives you what you can handle" Such bullshit. A loving God does not want his children to suffer. God gives us free will, and as shitty humans, our will can affect one another in the most horrible ways at times. I can no longer be angry about that, anger is crippling, and I am damn tired of limping.
I know, I've seen many miracles and coincidences and I should remember those, and I do! These are the things that give us hope and keep us going. But that is LIFE. That is CHANCE. That is FATE. And mine has been cruel, as much as it has been beautiful. Hope has run out. It is hard to draw inspiration from a void. I am the only person who can fill that void. Me. I can't stop loving life because I'm afraid of being hurt again. That is no life.
I know I have a lot to be thankful for. I just feel so goddamn miserable all of the time, I can't get out from under this cloud, no matter what I do. I wish I could find my joy again. I am afraid to put much effort or emotion into anything. Not including my children because they are not things, they are precious beings that deserve and receive ALL of my best, my love, nurturing and guidance and I will always do my best to help them grow into healthy, loving and productive adults. I smile, I laugh, I hug them and teach them and grow with them every minute that I can. But I have nothing else, because I have had too much taken from me to feel secure enough to open those wounds to hope again. Here's to 50 or 60 years more! I hope soon I can find a way and a drive to make my life more satisfying again. I'm sure I will, I just wish I knew when.
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I wrote this 3 months ago, but I didn't publish it because it is so sad and raw, and it's difficult for me to put these slivers of myself out there...and since then, I have woken up. Let's call it another "bouncing point." I think we all have them throughout our lives. I've decide to stop being controlled by pain, to stop hating how I hurt and start loving that I'm alive. I'm in charge, but releasing control. We are not in control of anything but ourselves. I changed EVERYTHING by changing my mindset and practicing what I've been preaching for a long time. I stopped beating myself up in my head every day, and started listening to the loving thoughts. (they were always there, just so damn quiet compared to my sadness) I look myself in the eye every day and say, "You will NOT give up today, dammit." I'm too stubborn to be beaten, I have too much to offer this world, and I won't give up. DON'T GIVE UP!!!! The fact that we wake up each morning is proof of our purpose.
