I am shocked but mainly disappointed to be here, in this place, again. I'm trying to be strong--sure 'they' say I don't need to be strong--but how has weakness EVER benefited someone? Spilling into a puddle in the middle of the floor never helped anyone or accomplished anything---at least not when people are around.
Alone, the dam breaks and I am flooded by all the old emotions. The wounds, that lay buried, six feet under, dead and forgotten, rise again, they engulf me and once again I am the zombie. Dead inside but driven by craving. Craving to feel alive-no not alive, the pain reminds me I am alive, craving to feel loved.
Here I am, reliving the deep pain of rejection again and again and again. Counting the moments I was left, forgotten and barely an after thought from birth.
I thought it was resolved...but if so, why am I still rejected? WHY told, basically, that I am a person incapable of being loved.
The tears stream down as the bleeding begins...the wounds can not be stopped. I need a tourniquet. It is severe. My body aches and wracks itself with sobs that sound like one vomiting. The only thing that exits is mucous and the salt water. Down on my face, my head to the floor, they mingle with the dust on the hard wood. I am eye level with dirt. Can I get any lower? I want to. I want to be swallowed up. I want to go down and not face the sun light that taunts me with it's smile giving rays.
Words replay within my mind....."I just don't feel anything for you. I don't want to waste any more time." My house swirls into irritation around me. I WANT TO SCREAM when they approach me with their petty irritations. KIDS STOP!!!!!!!
Rejection. over and again. WHY? Forgiveness and trust--rejected to produce cruel words and insults. Words that go deep to the core, like a blow to the stomach. I want to vomit. If I can, the emptiness inside will come out. Send it away. Vomit it down the toilet. When the tears are spent--then there is nothing but hollowness. An echo where love used to be. Now, a dark cave that no one wants to go near.
Twenty years? Was it ever easier at six years? Or seven years? Is it easier tonight than Monday? Will it really be easier tomorrow?