“There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken, a shatteredness out of which comes the unshatterable. There is a sorrow beyond all grief which leads to joy and a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength. There is a hollow space too vast for words through which we pass with each loss, out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being. There is a cry deeper than all sound whose serrated edges cut the heart as we break open to the place inside which is unbreakable and whole, while learning to sing.”
i woke up this morning, still numb, with the headache that comes from holding back tears. i woke up this morning, still numb, with a sore throat that contains the raging moaning hurt and angry screams i’ve held inside. i woke up this morning, hot and sweating from a nightmare, rolled over to the cool side of the bed, and went back to sleep. i woke again an hour later, debated if i had to get out of bed, decided that there was no reason to get up, and went back to sleep once more. i got up this morning only because an hour arrived when my body ached more staying in bed than getting out of it. after i got out of bed, i searched for the quotation at the beginning of this post. i’m looking for a muse to whisper the next step and the next and the next. i knew that eating peanut m&m’s for breakfast was not the next step, but i ate them anyway.
on days like this (has there ever been a day like this?), i play a game with myself called “if i died tonight, how would i want to spend today?” this game reassures me for two reasons: only having to live one more day (instead of ten thousand more days) seems do-able and how i’d spend my last day surprises me (because today i’d go swimming).
on days like this (if ever there has been such a day, and i don’t believe there has), i count my blessings, which is something i do everyday. they are many blessings. i have to stop myself from counting the ways my life hurts, because that list automatically challenges the blessings list and has a fiercer attitude. i return to the blessings list. i begin with the easy things: running water, flushing toilets, well-stocked refrigerator, two cats (neither of which has puked on the carpet yet today), two men that live with me and love me and take care of me in ways i don’t realize because their care-taking includes doing things without my asking or awareness, two best friends who love me enough to tell me things that are hard to say, and everybody else that loves me for reasons i can’t comprehend today.
on days like this i wonder how anyone else on the planet has survived her or his days like this because plenty of people have had much worse days than mine. i remember to read what inspires me. i remind myself to ask for help. i give myself permission to go back to bed. when i wake up hot and sweating from another nightmare, there is a cool side of the bed right next to me, inviting me to scoot over and fall back asleep.