From Me To You

From Me To You

Babes,

God I miss you. I miss you so much. You know what, for the most part, I have found life again. Here, two and a half years after you moved on, I too have moved on. I had no choice. So every day I did my best and so fucking slowly the really brutal heart aching barely able to get out of bed days passed. Slowly and surely I started to heal the massing wound that was gushing from the moment they told me you had been in an accident. But like any significant injury, healing is complicated. We never know that something will be too strenuous until we lift it until we feel that tweak; we’ve ripped the stitches, and it feels like we are set way back.

Learning to live with an injury is a balancing act between protecting it and applying pressure to heal it further. The secret is only to apply force when it is correctly aligned. That is how we get strong. We place it all back as it should be and we add weight. But what about when it cannot be put back into place, or what about when life happens, and you don't have time to make sure you are perfectly aligned before adding stress? Well, then you hurt yourself more. Then you feel the pinch of overdoing it. You feel the pushback in the form of pain, and you have to rest up until it heals, and then you can try again.
I have had to try again and again. The thing about emotional pain it is harder to predict. A broken bone or torn muscle is a little more predictable, but mental fluctuations are less straightforward.

Not applying pressure is just as bad, maybe worse. Then you are stuck in atrophy. Just wasting away. That always seemed like the worse of the options. I’d apply the stress and hope I could handle it. I tried to live again, I would grit my teeth, and I felt the pain as I grew a new life. I cleaned out your things, I moved out of our house, I traveled alone, I moved away, I started school, and I allowed myself to fall in love again. Here, I’m moving again.

An exciting move. I’m moving in with a great friend, and I am excited. Yesterday, I was talking about some things we need for the house, and I said, I don’t have a bed that’s what happens when you don’t have a home. The words came out of my mouth and broke my heart. I do have a house.
I have our house.

Where we had a bed, we had beds. Where I had nice things and had decorated. I had a family and a home and a place that was mine and now I have nothing more than what I can fit in my car… Babes, my logical mind knows it could be way worse, and I am fortunate beyond words, but sometimes I’m pissed. We had a plan; the house, the dog, the businesses, the ring, the date, the wedding, one day kids…

I want to throw things and break the few things I do have. I want to scream, and yell and punch something, and rage about how unfair it is that I have all of this insane pain.
Only I talk myself down, saying it is fine because what choice is there. I better make it fine because this is it.
I am here, and you are there, and life is what it is. And if I am honest it is a good life; I have a great life, even so, I’m angry or is it a sadness that is too painful, so I get mad instead?

My logical mind knows how fortunate I am. I understand that family comes in many forms, and I have a family here. I have a beautiful man too. I have this amazing guy, but I also juggle this pain. A deeply broken heart for another love. I try to remain very present with him and try not to be caught up in this, but sometimes I just am. I am caught up in a massive amount of pain.It’s such a trip to me that this only is because you are not. That is so odd.
I am here living this life, and you died.

I have a paper due on the ethics of counseling tomorrow, I move out in 5 days, and we leave to lead a yoga retreat in Mexico in 6 days, but tonight I’d like to call you.
Have a little chat, catch up and see where you’re at.
Where are you, do you remember me? I don’t think that’s how it works.
But I remember you, and tonight I am sending you lots of love.

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