August 17, 2022

I would look at myself and not know who I was. Id stare deep into my own eyes looking for a spark, anything recognizable. She was just a house of flesh accumulated with pain and sorrow. The grief was unbearable. The understanding that I couldn’t be loved, no matter how hard I tried. Born with an inheritance of deep and rooted grief. I would look at myself and see no way out. Some days hurt so bad my chest would go numb, like holding a weight out with your arm cantilevered until you can’t feel anything anymore. The good news is I don’t know her anymore. When I tell this story it’s like I’m telling someone else’s story. When I close my eyes to recall the episodes, I simply watch and no longer partake. She made it out. She’s alive. I cried out one day to God so intensely, begged him to take it away. I said I would do anything, give up everything and anything if he would just make it go away. It never came back after that day. The ache. The numbness. The sting. He took it all away.