But I don't have anything I can control. My insurance lapped so I can't go to tharpey, my job doesn't respond to my emails or calls after medical leave due to a attempt and my "friend" who let me stay with her doesn't listen to anything I say when I have issues. We live in a one bedroom house with 2 other people then just this week she brings in a 3ed? 5 in a one bedroom? This is what my life has devolved into I'm in Hell and there's no way out that doesn't involve a bridge and a backpack with rocks in it. Everything falls apart and Im so tired of it crumbling the moment I make headway. I'm in so much pain I can't remember what it feels like to be genuinely happy. I smile at work but it fades when I got to my car, the only thing that distracts me from this horrible world is when men use me because I can disassociate and my brain shuts off it's all I am.
Going through a lot is unrelenting and vicious. It concludes endless, suffocating survival as the full story. Finding safety and closure fades as what is most annoyingly, frustratingly, bewilderingly needed is time and patience. To just keep going long enough for natural healing to take effect is the revenge of love, yet who wants it?
Every moment causes more suffering or emptiness, liminal spaces to traverse alone while lonely, hungry, angry, tired and writhing lost in agony with nothing but the shadow of memories to follow. Realizations are pure torture, a darkness even pain itself can't survive within; it orients one in chaos but doesn't bring acceptance and awareness. And there is no capering about solving the case of cause, let alone a compassionate, nourishing, nurturing medicine to stop the frantic ache. Our torn lives simply remain, gaping and gasping.
How backhanded it is that abundance of depth and beauty and mystery within a person simply IS, the way an ocean is — both death and destruction, life and nourishment, beauty and ugliness. More than the sum of it's parts but unlike nature does so much convincing otherwise. An ocean is not attempting to fit itself into a pothole to appease another ocean, a lion does not don tufts of a hyena and chase every fly from fear of what it's pride might think. The wolf does not doubt the tone and tenor of it's howl or it's feet and teeth on the hunt. The sun does not apologize for leaving us every night, the moon does not ask for forgiveness to reflect. The stars do not thank us for looking at them. The planets do not love us for our orientation. Nature is, without analysis.
This is a time as always of great and terrible change. Shattered human history and heritage reclaim themselves in savage roar and quiet sunset alike. Humans are not to be trusted or worth being known as pieces of who they are, but can be trusted and worth knowing as all they are from where everything meets across all time. Easier to say, harder to recall when one faces injustice, poverty, abuse and assault. But the ocean waves, the meadows bow, the cosmos is anyway.