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My life ended in April, 2012 – I’d seen the end careening through my blinders of denial for months. Only months, though. Essentially, I was surprised. And I still have to keep reminding myself: it was just one of my lives.

When a relationship is enmeshed, it’s because two incomplete people have come together to make one whole person. They each fill in the foundation with their half of the sand and gravel. And then the relationship ends, usually with one person prepared and the other one … not so much. So the leaver extracts everything they had put into the foundation and the foundation crumbles, leaving the leavee to fall through the floor and keep falling endlessly, until they realize it’s just a bad dream – then they can stand up and move on.

I tried that. Epic fail. Apparently it only works when you believe it.

When I tried to stand up, there was a ring of bullies there to push me down. Demons, really – these hateful dark voices and caustic tapes proceeded to paralyze and cripple me. There would be no “getting over it” or just “snapping out of it” – not for a good chunk of time.  The snowball was rolling, and it was determined to strip me and my life down to Zen scale.

And even Zenner.

So yeah, I experienced that – one thing after another falling away from me – out of my life. A secure home. Fulfilling employment with plenty of time to pursue my artistic impulses. Rewarding friendships. Lust for life. Social standing. All of it. Anything you can imagine. Everything that I had worked for. Apparently I was working the wrong way. Obliterated. My confidence, self-worth and sanity. All of it – gone. In stages, like eating an artichoke. Gobbled-on leaves cast to the side of the plate.

They say the lesson repeats as needed.

Much of the time I feel I’m adrift on an ocean. An ocean of what, I’m not sure, but wouldn’t figuring it out solve the problem? Or would I still be stuck there, like, “OK. The offending substance is an ocean of gelatinous goo. Now what?” All there is to do is float in it, grateful it’s keeping me from sinking. Doing the day-to-day, day by day. Is this what “normal” feels like? No wonder I drank and took sedatives and trained my mind to jet off elsewhere, deep inside.

As I’m bobbing up and down in an ocean of whatever is sustaining me, my ears keep dipping below the goo. These are my new thought patterns. Sometimes I hear thoughts and sometimes I don’t. It’s frustrating, dispiriting and lonely.

That’s where I am right now.

PS. I just found this synchronicitous post. Thank you, Oscar.

Loudest Silence