before i left on this trip i was told to "know who i am."
the funny thing is i feel more like myself the past 12 hours than i have the past 10 months. superduke lives :) and people understand what that means.
people are reaching out to be with me... not the other way around.
i feel almost like a leper back home. like i am looking in on a party through a dusty old window. i am so torn. right vs wrong. me vs them. me vs me. me vs a memory.
i think it may be time to get back to my peeps. i have been fighting so hard for friendships that are sporadic at best. if i show up... if i jump through their hoops
doh! to be continued... gotta run!!!! henrietta hudsons is calling!!!
Les
Friday, March 12, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Thank you
I truly have the best friends and family imaginable. You guys have supported me through all of my stupid decisions, honest emotions, growth, and regressions. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Superduke, BD, Lesli, Me
Superduke, BD, Lesli, Me
9 mos
It's been 9 months. I don't know why some anniversaries of her death destroy me and some I don't even notice. Well, this one I noticed. I miss her so much. I know you must be sick of hearing me say that, but I cannot believe that the worl has continued to spin with out her here. It is so unnatural.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
what might have been
i know i am supposed to be learning to live with the pain.. blah blah blah, but, all of a sudden, i am so angry! i am mad that i have been cheated out of our future together. i am mad that i am single again. i am mad that there is no one here to hold me whan i cry. i am mad at sue and that makes me mad at myself. it is this nasty cycle that i cannot get out of. i feel like i should be passed this now. grr. once again. grief sucks.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
last week
ok... i finally have the courage to put this out there for you guys to see. Last Sat night i overdosed on sleeping pills. yes, it was intentional. i just wanted to see Sue so badly. i don't want to leave this life, but it seems so unnatural with her missing. i was in the hospital for several days in a behavioral unit. aka psych ward. i apparently shaved my head sometime Sunday morning. i have no recollection of it. i am ok now... so don't worry! i was just stupid and selfish for a bit. i am over it now.
love you guys
SD
love you guys
SD
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Feelings running amok
Grieving takes time. Grieving takes energy. Grieving takes courage.
I have been amazed at grief’s power to affect every part of my being... physical, emotional, mental and spiritual.
In early grief, an extreme fatigue wraped around me like a blanket I could not throw off. Some days, I would crawl right back into bed after having just eaten breakfast.
Sleep doesn’t necessarily bring respite. The tears flow even then. And my loss seems even louder as evening comes and the quiet magnifies the emptiness.
The simplest chores take Herculean effort. The figures in my checkbook won’t balance. Familiar items disappear into thin air. Simply doing the dishes takes me hours to work up to. My words sputter and stop mid-sentence.
“Grief takes up a lot of space in my head,” I try to explain to friends. It’s the only way to depict how my brain wrestles with a reality so devastating that it seems incomprehensible... that my angel no longer breathes on this earth.
And my heart? Who knew it could break so many times and so sharply and into so many pieces? And that emotional pain creates a fatigue that surpasses my extreme physical exhaustion.
Contrary to popular myths, I don’t “get over” my grief in a week or two, after a month, or even as I go through this year of painful firsts.
But thanks to Hospice bereavement groups, the compassion of Christ, friends who’ve walked through loss ahead of me, and my new found family at CC, I’ve learned to live with grief, as best as I can. I slog through it, in fits and starts, in bewilderment and clarity, in sorrow and in grace.
It is a much longer, harder process than popular culture would have us believe. As a society, we’ve lost touch with the wisdom and rituals and reality of death that our ancestors understood.
It is hard work to heal. Personally, I won’t “get over” my loss. Why would I want to get over a love so sweet and maddening and dear? I am, however, learning to live with the loss, to move forward in my life, in what I call a “new normal.”
Gradually, very gradually, hopefully, over months and years, the gratitude for the life we shared takes up more space than the grief. The difficult truth is that the healing comes through the grieving, the respite after the tears. My laughter jumbles in with my sorrow. The same poignant memories that stab the heart with longing also hold the warm, soothing comfort that eventually flows.
And I’m let in on one of humankind’s deepest and, in this culture’s, often unspoken truths: facing death changes life forever.
I have been amazed at grief’s power to affect every part of my being... physical, emotional, mental and spiritual.
In early grief, an extreme fatigue wraped around me like a blanket I could not throw off. Some days, I would crawl right back into bed after having just eaten breakfast.
Sleep doesn’t necessarily bring respite. The tears flow even then. And my loss seems even louder as evening comes and the quiet magnifies the emptiness.
The simplest chores take Herculean effort. The figures in my checkbook won’t balance. Familiar items disappear into thin air. Simply doing the dishes takes me hours to work up to. My words sputter and stop mid-sentence.
“Grief takes up a lot of space in my head,” I try to explain to friends. It’s the only way to depict how my brain wrestles with a reality so devastating that it seems incomprehensible... that my angel no longer breathes on this earth.
And my heart? Who knew it could break so many times and so sharply and into so many pieces? And that emotional pain creates a fatigue that surpasses my extreme physical exhaustion.
Contrary to popular myths, I don’t “get over” my grief in a week or two, after a month, or even as I go through this year of painful firsts.
But thanks to Hospice bereavement groups, the compassion of Christ, friends who’ve walked through loss ahead of me, and my new found family at CC, I’ve learned to live with grief, as best as I can. I slog through it, in fits and starts, in bewilderment and clarity, in sorrow and in grace.
It is a much longer, harder process than popular culture would have us believe. As a society, we’ve lost touch with the wisdom and rituals and reality of death that our ancestors understood.
It is hard work to heal. Personally, I won’t “get over” my loss. Why would I want to get over a love so sweet and maddening and dear? I am, however, learning to live with the loss, to move forward in my life, in what I call a “new normal.”
Gradually, very gradually, hopefully, over months and years, the gratitude for the life we shared takes up more space than the grief. The difficult truth is that the healing comes through the grieving, the respite after the tears. My laughter jumbles in with my sorrow. The same poignant memories that stab the heart with longing also hold the warm, soothing comfort that eventually flows.
And I’m let in on one of humankind’s deepest and, in this culture’s, often unspoken truths: facing death changes life forever.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
poemy type thingy
My heart cries out
In an otherwise silent room
My grief defines me
I call your name
Praying for a response
My grief a crushing boulder
The phone rings
I expect to hear your voice
My grief explodes
A Bible in my hands
Verses stand out
My grief ever present
A realization has come to me
It is not your comfort that I crave
My grief subsides
God is good
He hears my pleas
My grief ever a part of me
My heart still breaks
But in His hands
My grief no longer mine to bear
A humble servant
Finds her faith
My grief a map to His heart
A thankful child prostrate to Abba
Can fathom His joy
My grief a tool to shine His glory
In an otherwise silent room
My grief defines me
I call your name
Praying for a response
My grief a crushing boulder
The phone rings
I expect to hear your voice
My grief explodes
A Bible in my hands
Verses stand out
My grief ever present
A realization has come to me
It is not your comfort that I crave
My grief subsides
God is good
He hears my pleas
My grief ever a part of me
My heart still breaks
But in His hands
My grief no longer mine to bear
A humble servant
Finds her faith
My grief a map to His heart
A thankful child prostrate to Abba
Can fathom His joy
My grief a tool to shine His glory
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)