Open.
My guiding word this year. As much as I tried to fight it. Wanting something that sounded more ... Pizzazz-ey. Release. Savor. Be. Nope. Not happening. Open was persistent. Loving. Gentle. Kind. Yet, very persistent.
Open.
She became my pizzazz. And I love her already.
Open to let the light in. Open to let the light out.
Open to be. Open to become.
Open to share. Open to receive.
So here I am.
Wide open.
Baring my truth. Again.
Sharing. And receiving by doing so.
Most of my writing the past year or two has been done privately.
Not wanting onlookers.
Feeling the need to pull in and protect.
Protect what?
My heart, perhaps.
My ego, maybe.
Who goes through this shit for this long without feeling foolish.
Used. Pathetic. Weak.
Yes, ego ... for sure.
This space, in all of it's forms throughout the years, has been such a beautiful light for me. A safe light. Cozy; Warm. Full of so much understanding and love and connection.
I didn't feel so bitterly alone in my journey when I came here. So many sharing similar stories with me. And thanking me for mine. United. Hand in Hand. Heart to Heart. Hope. We gave each other hope.
So the need to pull in, protected from outward expression in this space was foreign.
And it hurt.
It was cold.
And lonely.
and cold.
Still, I needed to pull in.
I needed to breathe.
I needed to take care of my heart.
And my ego.
And, oooh, how simultaneously bright as well as grim this this breath of perspective feels.
I've come full circle.
Learning, again, how important it is to reach out to a tribe.
To lean on a village for strength when it gets so heavy.
It all gets so heavy.
That village. That tribe. It includes you sweet souls that have been here with me through my cyber journey over the years. Supporting me. Accepting my support. Loving me in all of my beautiful mess.
I've learned how to embrace my broken heart.
Hear her. Feel her. Comfort her.
I've learned how to tend my bruised ego.
Her hear. Feel her. Comfort her.
And I'm now ready to release myself from this cocoon of protection.
I'm ready to let you in again.
Long time readers will remember my husband is disabled military ... Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as well as a Traumatic Brain Injury. He came home after Iraq so very changed. Anger and Secrets and Destruction that I couldn't dream up if I tried. I didn't recognize him. I still don't. Anger and Secrets and Destruction lingering on. Gaining momentum. Becoming stronger in many regards. It's been 11½ years.
For as much growth as there has been, for both of us, individually as well as together, I feel like we're still swirling in the same patterns. 3 steps forward. 3 steps backward. End Point is the same as the Start Point. I feel like I'm losing my grasp. Or my footing. Or both. Yes, both. My mind, too.
Spinning.
So fast.
Too fast.
I want off.
For as much as he has come to terms with his reality, he still fights it equally as hard.
So confident it's not the cause of his anger in any given situation.
There's denial and blame shifting for that.
Fight or Flight.
Who am I kidding...
Fight AND Flight.
Survival.
The land-mine has been tripped.
He amours up and starts firing with his full arsenal.
Pushing away the ones he loves the most.
Nothing off limits.
Until he can escape the enemy.
Me.
And he's gone.
For days; weeks; months ...
as we wonder if he's even alive.
For as much as I've come to terms with his (our) reality, I still fight it.
Seeing the man I fell in love with inside of him.
So confident and trusting that that man and his love will prevail over his demons.
Fight or Flight.
I'm ready to go to bat for this man, for my family ...
but unable to not take personally his targeted attacks.
And eventually I let him push me away.
Or I push back.
Until I feel safe from the enemy.
Him.
And he's gone.
For days; weeks; months ...
as we wonder if he's even alive.
Caring about, loving, helping someone with the level of demons and injury that my husband has is by far the hardest thing I have encountered in my life ... a life that has not been short on hardships even if short on years. I haven't gotten a handle on it. I haven't figured it out. I don't know if I want to figure it out.
It's been 11½ years.
Spinning.
So fast.
Too fast.
I want off.
I'm taking those first steps.
This is my wide open truth.
So very open.
