There are some losses that affect us in ways we never knew they would. Some that bite at us, that stir such raw emotion that the tears are there before we even know they were in production. I miss my friend. I didn’t have enough time to bust his balls, to give him a hard time, to make fun of him, to be proud of him, to hug him one last time on his visit home. I didn’t have enough time. I want to beat him one last time at poker, I want to drive our mother’s crazy by picking the most obnoxious music to play to. I want to tell him how in that single moment when he was home and we walked towards each other down the street and he hugged me tight and said ” it’s so good to see you” that I knew we were family. I want him to offer me one last shot that I will initially turn down and then inevitably take. I hated opening up the door that day. I miss you my friend.
This wild beast can not be tame, does not wish to respond to reason or logic. This inner dialogue has no filter or boundary. She bucks and roars and screams beneath this exterior. She wants to go. To run. To discover. To challenge. To be alone. To be free. She hurts in all the wrong places, where her mind won’t let her go. Won’t let her go. Her mind won’t let her go. It’s all bottled up, not so nice, not so neat, just caged beneath this skin. It tears and it makes her angry. The truth makes her angry. The anger makes the tears. This cycle, this tortured soul, this caged beast within won’t let her go. And she swallows it down as she always does. She swallows her soul and she sighs.
Ok….I am going to try this. I am going to try to turn over a new leaf, to let all negative thoughts and feelings leave my body with breath. I will no longer entertain them and I will no longer acknowledge negativity. I will distract myself with positive energy and I will have faith that a greater force will handle all appropriate wrongs. I know that my heart and my intent is good and that is going to be enough for me. And still I rise….above it all.
I think I am an emotional pendulum. It is so hard for me just to let myself feel whatever it is I am feeling. I am constantly talking myself out of my own emotions. I can’t even find the words…For example, I am so relieved that my surgery is over, that I am healing physically, that I no longer have the weight on the unknown on my shoulders and I know I should feel happy about that, but I am so unresolved. I am trying to just let it go. I’ve said to myself that justice will come another way, that being free from the negativity is enough for me. It’s a lie. I think the hardest part is that I am lying to myself. I grew up believing in right and wrong. I grew up with a conscience. I grew up being taught values. All the movies and television shows I’ve ever watched wrap everything up in a nice little ball where the bad guy is taken care of in one form or another. Well….that’s never happened in my life, perhaps why I am pressing so hard now for justice. Demanding it. I’m not able to let go. I was absolutely devastated after the accident. Fractured. The physical was nothing compared to the emotional. It would have been easier if it were an unfamiliar, some random act from a nameless stranger. Instead it was someone I protected, despite what he did to me. It was someone I loved. Someone I trusted. It was someone who sat and watched me cry and bleed. He watched me cry and bleed. He watched me cry and bleed all over him. My literal blood on his literal hands. He watched me cry and bleed at his hands and left me to pick up all the pieces. And then he ran…no he hid. He hid behind his father and his friend, the attorney who advised him not to speak to me. He hid from the damage he caused. He hid from all responsibility. He hides still. All this hiding and all I ever asked him to do was take responsibility for his actions. I was never looking to make money off of this tragedy. I wanted him to get help. I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to do the right thing… and now I want justice. I want justice for myself because I deserve it. I can’t let it go. This need. My blood was on his hands and he simply walked away and that is not good enough for me.
Do I continue this journey? Do I continue to write my story, my hopes, my fears, the things that people think but are afraid to utter out loud? Do I continue on this path and get it all out there, bare bones? That is the question.