Strugglin'...

I thought that if I opened a new document, I’d be able to start filling it up immediately with words, sentences, paragraphs because it‘s been a while since I‘ve written anything. I feel I’ve been quiet because I’m trying to figure out what’s in my head. Maybe that’s a lie though. Maybe I’m running from what’s in my head. This is forced at the moment because I can’t get the static of my thoughts to quiet down so I can pick out everything I need to say. I’m thinking that if I just start going, everything else will fall into place.
I’ve been feeling guilty lately for saying that I feel good when people ask how I am. For the most part, it’s an automated response because I still can’t find the words to describe exactly what goes through my head or what I’m feeling. To me, feeling good means being ok with the current moment, and I feel I shouldn’t be. I’ve lost Rob and stepped into a world of trouble. What’s good about that?
On the flip side, I can’t remember a time where I was as productive as I am now. I feel like everything I’ve thought about doing with my life is all swirling around me and is coming together in some way or another. It has me up in the air, happily bouncing off clouds, forgetting about my grief for the time being. Sometimes though I bounce too high, lose my footing and free fall through memories of waking up next to him, hearing him laugh, watching his eyes absorb me, and knowing I‘ll never have that with him again, but before I can drown in a sea of tears, something pulls me back up again and places me back on a cloud and I’m bouncing again.
When I’ve shared some details of my life with various clients recently I’m getting the “you’re doing too much” response, whereas before, when Rob’s accident had just happened I was encouraged to fill every single minute with doing something. I did none of the above and feel I handled it appropriately. I’d love it if people quit telling me how to live my life. It makes me shut off and quit telling people things.
Something else I’ve been interested in exploring is why I somehow feel the need to do things to myself to feel stuff. I went for a walk with my friend Shannon last week and we were talking about my recent piercing.
“I have an opinion on why you pierced your ear.”
“What’s that?” I ask, already pretty sure of what she’s going to say.
“The pain you’re feeling is so great that you had to do something else to get away from it.”
Yup.
“You’re right!” I laugh, although I’ve wanted the piercing for a while now, this just seemed like a good time to do it. Even at the gym, I enjoy feeling my muscles burn, I don’t mind the pain in my fingers when winding wire around a bead or charm for the billionth time, or squishing my feet into high heels, looking at the sun, or wanting someone yank me around just so I can feel anything but what it is that is still hovering over me, waiting for me to slow down and be open to experiencing what I’m running from.
What the hell is it anyway? What is it that I’m so afraid of? I cry when I need to, I write when I can, I talk when I want to, so what is it that I’m still trying to mask with external things? Why has it been my mission to find something else to hurt myself with when it’s the last thing I need?