It’s possible to journey through the whole gamut of emotions in 45 minutes, I can assure you, because I just did it.
It started with anger building up in tandem with the muscles in my legs warming up, making them move from the relaxed post sleep state they were in as I cut through dark on my bike along the river.
It was anger building up to a simmering fury that morphed into pain and a deep, deep feeling of humiliation which gave birth to enormous and soul destroying pain. I never quite ended up with my old friend shame although it was there waiting in a dark corner. Shame and I have danced so many times and we’re well acquainted. I don’t need to go looking for it. It pretty much knows where I am most of the time and is completely shameless (pardon the pun) in the way it stalks me.
Out of the pain sorrow was born and as I slogged my way up what is kilometres of uphill, some parts of it steeper than others, and I began to sob, audibly.
The good thing about making the journey in the dark is that hardly anyone is out there that time of day, except for the young man I accidently interrupted while he was performing his morning prayers in the tunnel under the railway. When he spotted me he quickly rolled up the jumper that had served as his prayer mat, and he looked like a child caught out doing something bad when he spotted me heading towards him. I smiled at him through the pain which was at that particular stage threatening to cut me right down the middle and pondered the fact that it had never dawned on me that Mecca was “that way”. Say hello to Allah for me. He doesn’t know who I am but anyway.
By the time I reached the top of the hill I was begging the Universe to send me someone to love me NOW.
I felt like an abandoned child for a moment but then out of the not so dark recesses of my soul I felt something warmer and brighter begin to stir. I’m loved, right? It’s not like I have to sit here and wait for it. It’s already here and it’s surrounding me. I love me, I have actually begun to love me and even if my ego doesn’t think it’s good enough (fuck you ego!) it’s the best kind of love I could ask for. It’s the one love I truly need. So there!
But, I wasn’t prepared for the mental image that followed because the person whose face was clearly in my mind next is a person I have known for a long time but who I would never, ever expect to be in that kind of relationship with. It’s an impossible kind of scenario but you know what? Today I will take it, I will take the thought of it and keep the feeling of salvation. I will store it away, the feeling that filled my heart when I clearly heard this person in my mind tell me they love me and I will treasure it like it’s the last treasure on this planet. I will place that little nugget in my heart and allow it to be the seed of something bigger and better, of my own healing.
I need healing. My whole chest feels like it’s wide open at the moment. It’s like the heartbreak tore it right open but instead of there being the burnt out leftover of what was once my heart, that thing I expected to find, there is an opening and out of it shines the most golden, pure, bright light I’ve ever seen. I feel like I’m walking around all open and vulnerable and all I have, in the centre of me, is pure golden light love. My heart chakra is a fucking cupboard with the doors wide open and it’s leaking golden pure light everywhere but it’s open for anything to take up residence in there too. Look out for bats. Mustn’t let the bats in!
The emotions, the feelings - the gamut - are just programs and processes running to restore my operating system to its optimum. It’s like I’m defragging my mind and debugging it at the same time, and this time I hope I don’t stop the process until it’s finished. This time I hope I don’t flick the switch out of fear before the real healing has occurred.
So while I stew over the “fact” that the person who was supposed to be my salvation three years ago, the one who was supposed to drag me out of the quicksand and guide me out of the swamp, turned out to be another poor choice for a guide I’ll think on this:
I knew he wasn’t the one, on some level I knew this. But part of me still chants “Liar! Liar! Your pants are on fire” at him like it’s his fault for being an imposter. Childish I know, but I can’t really muster up maturity at this stage so I choose to bring my inner five year old forward in defence of myself in this particular case. Fingers will have to be pointed and I’ve pointed them at myself for far too long, the five year old demands that they’re pointed at someone else for a while. Let the program run. Just let it run.
But now, the healing I need are for wound dating back mostly to the middle ages, my middle ages that is, my twenties. I can’t recall a time when I when I actually felt OK with me (except for when I was five!) but I can recall times when every single one of my lovers (husbands, boyfriends and the self-proclaimed friend come fuck buddy) changed from being avid supporters of me to becoming critics wanting me to be something I never was or said I would be. My wounds also date back to prehistoric times, before I even have memories, and I’m running the whole history through, I’m running the gamut of emotions that go with it, I’m recapping my life, and I’m preparing to rewrite the story. I’m preparing to walk out of my history and into my new story. The only fear I have is that I’ll somehow opt out.
So for today I will choose to believe in love as being the one and only prevailing thing in my life, my saviour and my life line. Surely good things are still to come for Spilling Ink and her heart. Surely it’s time for redemption.
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