So many days this week I sat down at my computer to write to you.

I really do think of my posting as writing to you, my readers, not just throwing things out to the great wide web, although it may seem that way at times.

It was a very “life” week.

Things happened this week that have left me…I don’t know, inarticulate. Half-speeched. Quiet.

I’ve held myself together with duct tape and tea, bearing my soul like a burden, dragging it along behind me.

I came to my computer, started half a dozen now unfinished posts, and just kind of drifted away, not really having the words. The same is happening in real life. I want to talk, and there really is so much to say, but the energy to say it is not there.

I feel like I have so much to communicate..  I come to the blog, and feel like I am just sitting with you, silently, as you hold my hand. I am soul searching and it is sometimes a quiet work.

As sensitive people, I bet you can understand.

 

Someone hurt me this week, and not for the first time. To say the situation is complicated is an understatement. (Just FYI, I am safe. It is an emotional, not physical thing, and it is not my nuclear family.)

I have spent the week literally shaking. My head can tell me that I am OK, that I am safe and all is well (enough), that I am blessed, but my body has completely different ideas.  Clearly, I have some stuck trauma that needs working through, and this person hits that spot time and time again.

It has been an emotionally complex week on top of that. James T had a medical procedure that he is usually none too happy about (I will leave out the details), and I was trained on how to give him his methotrexate injections every week.  Never in a million years did I imagine myself injecting my child with chemotherapy drugs.

I have to be strong for him. I’m tired of being strong. Why do other people get to feel sick when dealing with needles, and I don’t?  I want to be allowed to be human, but instead I have to do things no matter what I feel about the situation.

“Oh, Amy’s strong. She can handle it.”   You wouldn’t say that if you actually spent a few minutes in my brain.

There was a local tragedy of a very violent sort, in the middle of the day, in the kind of place people go to all the time. The kind that makes you wonder, will I be next? The violence in our area has skyrocketed, and I want out.

Yet I have no control over that. I soldier on.

I don’t want to soldier on.

I found a new “close family” match through Ancestry DNA.  She has not logged back on in a week and I’m like, “Girl, you match someone close enough to be your half-sister and you don’t check back?? What’s up with that??”  I sent her a message and now I just wait.  Unfortunately it’s common to never hear back, especially when there are skeletons in the closet involved.

Hi, I’m skeleton. Nice to meet you.

To add insult to injury, I had $12 in overdue fines. 12 books, 4 days.

Here’s a haiku I wrote:

 

I am craving simple. Please simple?  Even my very drilled down life seems so complex. There are so many things I’m not even saying, so many things I blame myself for or am not handling right now.

What can I do?

I can continue to find the beauty in every day. I think maybe non-sensitive people don’t see how this can coincide with deep pain, as if I’m wholly not appreciative of my life just because I say I hurt, life is hard, this sucks.

 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Amy (@hspmom)

 

I can grieve. Grieve what is, what could have been, what should have been. I don’t have to “buck up” like people say. They don’t know.

I can love myself. I’m not even talking self-care right now, although those things are good.  No, I can love myself – deeply and profoundly accept myself  JUST. AS. I. AM.

I can step forward from this spot of acceptance.

Tiny step after teeny-tiny step.