The Process of Healing

Today I am tired. Exhausted deep in my bones. Shaky. I ache without even moving. I feel like every muscle in my body has been sucked dry. I want to cry but I can’t. The emotional pain is almost unbearable and it scares me. It is worse than physical pain. I curl in a ball and hide under the blankets in my dark, quiet room. I want the weight of many blankets, the protective feeling of having all my skin covered, even if it makes me too hot. I clutch pillows tightly, afraid that if I let go I will explode into a million tiny pieces and disappear. My room is the only place I feel safe. There I am allowed to relax, not pretend that I feel ok, not pretend that everything is fine. I don’t have to fight tears if they want to come. I don’t have to smile and focus and interact. I sleep all day because it blocks out the pain. Sometimes. Usually I want to eat until I feel sick. I’d rather suffer that overfull feeling than face my internal turmoil. But today I don’t even have the energy to eat. I only eat because Ed is kind enough to bring me food. I just want to sleep and sleep and I worry what tomorrow will be like. Because I have too much to do to feel like this again in the morning. I know I have to go through this to come out the other side healed and whole again, but it’s so awful right now. This space is so lonely and scary and black and seemingly endless. I just want it to be over and done with. I have things to do. I am too busy to be shot down, debilitated, immobile. I have a life to live.