There inside lay mysteries, so much unknown about myself, so much running even while being still. Jitteriness, is that mania? Even here on this quiet land, feelings come that are run from. There is no escaping where you came from, or who you are.
Not wanting to be me, with my history, coming from people others usually call family. Why can’t you just stick to being here now? My wholeness is all of me.
The dire sleep issues erupting once again after a nice lull mostly away from them, but why? The digestive issues kicking up a storm must be related to the emotional issues. Depression filling me with holes of sadness compounded with an aloneness that ought to be familiar enough by now, and accepted, but? This one has sharp edges begging for understanding, and compassion.
Depression? In summer? After the joy of spring, depression? It is over lack of sleep, yet why not sleeping? July 1st, our 44th anniversary, but two days later Dan’s death almost 50 years ago.
In the group of people most call ‘family’ the thoughts, especially those voiced by Seth not that long ago in response to my rushed angered emails; the pain is about those who abused me, so he says.
Feelings about myself stem from that. The pain they carried after abusing me. My choice would be the victim not the abuser. Mistakes of any kind cause months, even years of self-chastising. The pain of being unable to forgive myself drowns. So any pain felt has been centered around them.
But… there is another scenario. What about me, the little girl left alone.
What about compassion for me? At almost 70 a soft place to fall internally is not there, a home that welcomes with love, acceptance, and friendly support. Going to others to fill me, make me whole, heal me. That is temporary.
Running, always running from whence I came.
Go home little one, you will find someone to love you there. Like Dorothy in Oz, all that is needed is right here, and now.