Writing, this writing. It’s my saviour, my therapy, my friend in need. I’ve always loved writing, and I seem to turn this way when nothing else can relieve the pressure, each keystroke unknotting a tangle, rubbing a balm on a wound. A sigh of words.
I don’t sleep much anymore. Without alcohol I am in a constant hangover, a throb constant at the base of my skull, an unrelenting tension in my neck and a persistent pain down my left arm. Maybe I should drink, at least I would feel like I got something for this noose of discomfort. 5:30am, I don’t even need to open my eyes to know it’s far too early to be up, thinking. So I write, meditate or make it to yoga, self soothing.
I cannot eat. It’s not uncommon for me. When I am troubled. I cannot eat. It’s not that I don’t want to eat, I cannot physically put food to my mouth. Most people eat their way through things, nibble their way through pain and boredom. Right now, I eat because I know I have to. I am trying myself on a pre made food delivery next week, it is one way I can think of to make myself eat. 7 smoothies to drink in a day, no need to think about anything, make anything, and still make sure I am getting enough nutrients to work and be a mother. Left to my own devices I couldn’t really care less about eating right now, let alone shopping or cooking. One could say this may be why I have the constant hangover from above.
It’s only been a few weeks, this too shall pass. Life will move on, projects will come up, new people will cross paths, new loves will form, and new futures will bloom. We have all been here in some capacity or another. I just want to hit fast forward, hold that button down and make time fly. I don’t want to mire in this, why grieve someone that didn’t want you enough to make things work, it seems ridiculous to me.
The best analogy is the foster child being picked up from the foster home, not wanted anymore. He’s thinking what was it about him that couldn’t fit in this family, why did they not want him, what’s wrong that they couldn’t make space for him. And I want to say to that inner child, it’s not you, you’re perfect and beautiful, this was not the right hole for you, don’t want them if they didn’t want you, someone else will want you and open their home up to you who truly loves you enough to make that change. Be patient and in the meanwhile, love yourself because that is all that matters. Don’t grieve a family that could not see your beauty.