I’m wearing the sting and ache of rejection, the heaviness of which is laden deeply within my chest. I always hope for the best in people, always hope they will see and value the pieces of me that may be tarnished or slightly broken. If I were polished to a sheen, I might be pretty but still cold to the touch. The light and warmth languishes in these dark periods where hope takes a plunge in the deep expanse of heartbrokenness.
If I glued the broken pieces of myself together, the seams between the broken parts will still protrude as evidence of my sustained trauma. And then there’s the glue. It’s funny how the things used to fix broken things really just form a new object. It makes something that may have once been malleable and translucent stiff and opaque. It’s a scarring of flesh and bone, where the reminscent injury remains for all to see.
Investing in relationships and hoping for understanding appears to be a rocky landscape that feels like a perilous drop into a bottomless ravine. Someone might spot me while I make that treacherous climb. I hope so. But, right now I feel trapped, alone, and it’s all closing in on me faster than I can escape.
I share my pain here because saying it out loud feels like I’m giving it to someone else. I don’t want to do that. I want to encourage, support, inspire, and instill hopefulness. But, some days it unearths in an unconventional and inconvenient manner. And today is that day.
All the layers of my psyche, in which good, exciting, encouraging, helpful, and hopeful things are layered deeply within this murky sadness that won’t dissipate.
The degree of loss and trauma I have experienced during the course of my lifetime, a rather extensive list I will not delve into here, is rare. I’m not a drama queen, and generally minimize the precise nature of the things I experienced because it’s wearisome laying it all out, and I feel keenly that the extensiveness of it is overly burdensome to the listener.
This is one revolution in a given day, although this one is just a little deeper than a similar one at a later time.
This is the process of grieving.
This is loss.