My heart is breaking, bleeding and racing out of control, I am in pain and the tormentor is as familiar as my own battered flesh. My heart is breaking and I am so very over it. I want to live a normal life. A normal life, what the fuck is that? Everybody has pain and trauma they tell me. Everyone hurts, that's why there are so many psychologists, counselors, and antidepressants.
But MY HEART is breaking. I can't stand the pain anymore. The scars are overlapping and my wrinkled gnarled heart is no longer recognizable as the beautiful and useful organ it once was. God gives you only what He thinks you can handle. The fuck does that mean? He? God? The divine entity of perfect love and omnipotence? God gave me this pain? Fuck that, God is a complete asshole. Fuck you for suggesting that.
My heart is pulsing in rage and confusion. I don't know what to do. I want to hide under the table in fear like a small child fearing the punishment of a parent that just discovered crayon drawings on the kitchen wall. Yet at the same time I wish I had the courage to scream on the highest mountaintops, a deafening YOP YOP! He hurt me! My pain is real! YOP YOP! It hurts and it is not going away! Still I cower like a coward, I don't write. I don't blog, I don't tell my story. My pain is my own and I won't share its shame.
My heart is weak and diseased; it has been broken too many times. There is no recovering from the damage done. Nothing will cure the pain I feel. I feel the pain over and over. I claw at my flesh to feel a different sensation but there is no respite. The familiar comes back to torture my soul. I bleed, I bleed, I bleed no more blood to bleed. I am lethargic and dying, lying on the carpet a pool of crimson surrounds me.
My heart beats its last, I reach out, one last effort, pain my only companion.
My heart heals and I feel joy again. I feel the love of my family. The pain that was such a constant and overwhelming presence a few weeks ago, fades into a distant mist of memory. Hugs and kisses from my children and spouse keep me present in the moment and I am alive.
My heart gladly pumps its life sustaining elixir. They love me and it is all worth it. Warm light from the yellow sun lightens and energizes my being. Let's go play at the park. Let's go explore our world, wiggle our toes in the cold glacier streams. Let's plant flowers in the garden and dedicate its fragrant beauty to happiness and joy. Let's snuggle close and watch a stupid movie while the thunder of a summer storm crashes outside.
My heart is light and glad. The world is all right and I am content and safe. I can't imagine life any other way. I close my eyes at the end of the day excited to skip and play the next day, sounds of my childrens' giggles echoing in my ears.
My heart is broken. The unknown, unspoken nightmares kept me from resting. I am angry and perplexed. It was such a good day yesterday. What could have possibly triggered me? Fuck it, I've played this game before; there is no good ending. Just more memories of my past. More pain. No good medicine to ease the discomfort.
My heart is fractured, I am raging and out of control. JUMPING SCREAMING, JUMPING SCREAMING! Got to calm down, write, exercise, clean, got to do something to calm the spirit inside me that wants to burn the whole place down.
My heart is pumping fast, like a racehorse on too many steroids. This rage is wearing on my body and I sit and stare, no desire for healthy alternatives. I am waiting for the pain to fade, yet it is familiar and almost comforting. I plaster on a smile and greet my children at the door as they walk home from school. I tell them that I am happy they are home. I am not happy. The familial bliss I felt has long been forgotten. Once again, I pick up the phone, "I need help," I tell the voice on the other end of the line. They answer, "Ok, Joel. We can help. Tell me what's going on?"
The circle is neverending.
There is no cure.
It is perpetual.
I am still healing.