Grief. What a word.
It is so extremely guarded. The word itself can evoke a feeling in your bones. You picture unresolvable sadness.
It’s a guarded word only meant to be used in an instance of utter traumatic sadness.
The grief that I am feeling at the moment is not that kind of traumatic sadness.
It’s a grief of loosing people.
But without any deaths.
This idea that I have to let go of the love and adoration I have for these loved ones, is completely foreign to me. I can’t seem to justify letting go of something that used to mean the entire world to me. My breathe and heart beat would revolve around their happiness.
I have always been an extreme lover. A love that is undeniably deep and soulful. I give everything and I am happy to.
But I have noticed that this ‘feeling’ or better yet residue of that feeling is still stuck on me. It’s gooey and messy and leaves mud tracks along the way. And after these loves have ended, I perhaps didn’t know where to put all of this sudden intense pain and sadness of loss.
I have held onto it like a hoarder.
Instead of things, I hoard emotions.
Peoples emotions.
The way they made me feel. How I imagine I made them feel. How our energy blended together. How they have a piece of me, and I have a piece of them. They have shaped me and made who I am. I let it give me scares and wounds that have been there for years now, that I have forgotten what it feels like to walk around without a type of emotional handicap.
In fact, I have been adding onto this. So deeply scared to let go.
Let go.
Let go.
Let go.
She whispers.
And all I seem to do, is hold on tighter, with all my might.
Not to say that I don’t allow myself to be sad about a breakup or the end of a relationship. I do.
I allow the pain to be there.
Mostly.
But, I think what I am feeling now is a sudden realization that the pain jar is at capacity of what I am able to feel. I have put so much of my love into these people without finding the one, that will relieve that pain jar.
I have held onto my pain as a way to keep me warm at night, in a sense to at least prove to myself that I’ve tried. Even if I’ve failed...
But all I am looking for is someone to meet me there. Meet my fears, and tell me it’s going to be ok. Appreciates my quirky nature, who will let me express my inner child once in a while. And someone who wants to hold onto my smell, digs their nose into my hair and skin and lays their head on my chest, while giving me little pecks of joy.
Perhaps I am just not capable of that much love.
I push it away before I am able to let go of the control I have taught myself to keep my heart safe.
I must somehow be nested into all those lives I have touched, scars that I’ve left on them, and hopefully they are a step closer to know how to let someone love them.
I was just not the one to give it to them…forever.
Just the one to shake them awake and make them realize that they are worth while.
Over this year I have been saying bye in an emotional way to a lot of old patterns I have.
Said goodbye to a lot of lovers I’ve held onto, and I have felt empowered by a lot of old pain that I have let rise to the surface.
I have confronted these deep discolored scars.
Nurtured them.
Let them exist.
Given them a lot of attention, because they deserve to heel too.
Because I deserve to heel.
To figure out who I am again.
I need to figure out who I am again.
I had been struggling with figuring out who I was or better yet who I was becoming. In a way though, I feel like I had been clouded by all this wonderfully engulfing love and excruciatingly shameful hurt. I let it drip into aspects of myself. But I am still working on deciphering if those fears and scars are mine or if they are theirs.
I often wonder if I walked into someone else’s love story, and they were lucky enough that I walked away with all of their gory bits and they parted ways with my good parts?
The answer to that seems silly to run after. You can’t ask for pieces of love back.
Finders, keepers, right?
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