When a friend told me recently that they followed my blog for a little while but had to stop reading it because it made them feel like … well, I’ll go with “depressed,” I kind of felt like an asshole. I spilled out all my innermost sadness and crap for anyone to read, almost abusively tormenting people with what I no longer wanted to be tormented by. And while I feel totally ashamed for exposing people to the horrors going through my mind and my lack of comprehension and sometimes temporary insanity, that working through and purging of my inner hell has been instrumental in my healing.
I finally feel alive again. I finally feel like I have some understanding of this person who keeps saying things with my voice and doing things with my body. My lack of self-control this past year has been so frustrating. It’s obvious when I reread my posts by how often I repeated myself in a wayward manner with little semblance, just how confused I really was.
I know I relented and gave myself up to this “processing,” to the mandatory soul-house-cleaning a person must follow-through with if they expect to come out of grief alive, but I really didn’t want to depress people. I thought that if I documented it, if I recorded the steps I endured it could possibly help someone some day who might be wondering if what they’re going through is “normal.”
Something in me changed in the past three months. One day I was walking around the DZ and it occurred to me that I was present in my thoughts. To clarify – the white noise was gone. The blur was over. The processing had finished. I had worked through almost all of it. I know I still have some unfinished business, some parts of the experience that will take many more years to work through, but I suddenly had so much more brain capacity at my ready. The relief was and still is extraordinary. I am not the same person I was, though. But that doesn’t bother me. Change is inevitable in life. It sucks when it’s forced, but its inevitability is one of the only things I rely upon.
I was worried about how broken I actually was. I have wondered – a lot – if my heart would ever be able to recover. If I would ever be able to feel anything. With each laugh I healed a little more. With each worry I healed a little more. Little by little my ability to feel – whether it was happiness, sadness, anxiety or anger – came back. The numbness faded with time, just like the old proverbs. Being able to feel is paramount in this life. And while I will always have the scar, the memories and the pain, it was the catharsis of this blog that has helped me learn to live with them and assisted in spawning the person I now know me to be.