PEARLS // Part one

I am out of practice, of all things important and the sum of all my parts. Even now, I hesitate.

I don't know how to write edited. I don't know how to voice; censored. It goes against everything I have been taught and all that I am. I will do my best to keep my pearls separate; to know which I can hold close for protection and which I can throw out for trampling.

This past year has been a process of inner deconstruction and navigating unknowns; an education in long-suffering and quiet.

It has hurt like a motherfucker.

I learned a long time ago these hurts, rejection and withdrawal, will not kill me. No. Nothing so definite and absolute.Nothing so extreme and dramatic and ... quick.
Instead,they will bring me to my knees. They will kick the air out of me.
They will grab me by the hair and yank back my head and force me to look
andlookandlookandlookandlook
until the complete decimation of all that I held dear has become a public play of mockery of which I have no part.
The screaming doesn't stop. Neither do the tears. Not for a long time.
The "why's" do. Blessedly. Mercifully.
The "why's" slink away and eventually the "what if's" follow them.

And then I can breathe again.
Some days I can stand. Sometimes I can laugh. And then eventually,
I wake up
and
I stop looking.
There.
Mostly.

And this is a mercy. This is a gift. And I am so grateful for it I squeeze my eyes shut and pray the prayer I have said over and over this year,
God. GodGodGodGodGodGod
GOD.
And my heart thumps, and my hands shake, and I feel a little clammy and queasy sick but I know, I know, I know, He is hearing me. He is seeing me there, all huddled up and broken, kicked to pieces and bruised, bloody heart and shredded character. He sees me. He hands me a blanket to wrap myself in, a tissue for the snot.
He tells me I'm going to be ok and also, it's time to start minding my own business. He holds my heart and reminds me He will heal it up, as He always has, but I have to stop grabbing it out of His hand and hunting for the things that damage.

Time. Time passes.
Time gives distance, but it does not give healing.
Trust does.
Reflection does.
Praying does.
Finding a mirror helps.
Beginning the shaky walk on a footpath to forgiveness will get you on your way.
Even if it's only a teeny bit at a time.
Even if you find yourself wanting to be an indian giver and grabbing it back because it's become wood for a fire you are tending religiously within you.

I gotta let that fire burn out.
If I don't,
if I let it rage and find it's own life,
it will burn to the ground all that was good and wonderful and right for a
very. long. time.
It will consume me until I'm nothing but ash and memories stained with bitterness.

I don't want stained memories. I want real ones. I can't let the difficulty of relationship take that from me.

I know. Sometimes watching the fire burn is mesmerizing. It warms me. It whispers that I'm right. I become entranced with my own pride and ego. There are some days I sit next to it and think, just for a minute. What's the harm in just a minute?

It takes a lot of grit to turn away and walk in the cold, where stark clarity and a new reality slap you in the face. Hard.
Be gritty. Let it sting.
You don't have to have the strength to walk it.
Crawl.
Lay on your back and look at the stars when crawling is too much.
Embrace the reminder that you are small and fleeting and just a speck of breath, and all of that is more than ok. Let it free you. I am letting it free me.
Crawl again.
Let the pebbles dig in your knees. Let your hands scratch and bleed. Feel it all.
You are alive. I am alive.

In this moment, this right now,
I. Am. Here.