I'm feeling overwhelmed. Considering all that has happened, could I expect anything else? Even under normal circumstances, I need solitude, order, quiet, and predictability. But now after the trauma of losing Christina, I need it more than ever. And yet, I feel pressured to perform and am overwhelmed by the lack of stillness. Is there ever a time when the house is quiet and still??
My senses are raw and bleeding. And yet, I am being pressured to return to who I was. I am gone. I will not return. The person who used to be me has been forever altered and so dramatically wounded that she cannot return. I am traumatized, and yet, am not afforded the luxury to heal. I guess I am required to stand my ground, but it won't be liked. It won't be well-received.
Still, I am determined. My books arrive tomorrow and so I will now have something constructive to do. It will be like medicine for my aching soul. My intentions are to sit by the pool until sometime in August and just read, rest, recover and seek restoration. Too bad if people disagree. Too bad if people think I am ruminating - which I am - and too bad if people think I should just "get over it" already.
I am frightened by the absolute trauma of losing Christina. Her suicide was not just a death. When someone dies of natural causes, it is usually because of age; it is anticipated and normal. This was not like that. It was sudden. Abrupt. Violent. Gruesome. Heart-wrenching. Painful. Horrifying. It was shocking, unexpected, a nightmare. It broke my soul in a million pieces...and like shards of glass, they are piercing my every moment.
So I am desperately trying to gather those broken shards and piece them back together. It won't be the same; it will forever be tainted, imperfect, and compromised. What if I cannot find all the pieces? Will my soul forever be just broken junk?? Still, I am determined to gather what's left of it and repair it as best I can. Rebuild. Reconstruct. Refurbish. To the best of my ability - but in my own way and in my own time.
I am frightened by the trauma. Like a veteran suffering from shell-shock, I am sent into a state of panic: when I hear sirens (someone is facing a trauma), when I hear someone use the number 18 (because that was the day of the month that "it" happened), when I hear the kids cry (because crying is so sad). I can't even hang my clothes to dry because when I see them hanging it conjurs images of seeing Christina "that day." Evenings trigger sadness...because it marks another day without her. Then there are the things that are said in casual conversation that haunt me: "Are you hangin' in there?" Or, "it just KILLS me when..." Do people realize how brutal our conversations really are??
I am frightened by the trauma...that the images continue to barge into consciousness...the blueish tinge around her mouth. The swelling of her tongue. The coolness of her fingers and toes. How unnatural she felt once she was embalmed. I am haunted by the echoes of things said. "Don't get your hopes up." "Your daughter consented to organ donation..." "...basically brain dead." "..they detect a weak pulse..." All these bits and pieces continue to intrude into my thoughts and rip through my heart and soul.
And I am frustrated that no one around me seems to be aware of just how traumatized I really am. They don't see blood gushing or bones protruding, so they assume all is well; but I'm not. I'm traumatized. I've been side-swiped, knocked to the ground, shattered to pieces, and robbed of my stability.
So I will stand my ground and do this MY way. I have that right.
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