I've been up and down today, up with the clouds, celebrating the joy of being alive, watching the birds chase each other through the cloudy deep blue skies; watching fluffy little lambs gambol after their mothers, their tottery steps a joy of dancing on the green, green earth. I watch the sun move across the skies, feel its spring warmth on my winter cold skin, smell the freshness of snow on the gentle breeze as it drifts down from the mountains and clears my head...
And sad. So sad. So much loss in my life. So much grief. So much pain. I used to imprison it - I'd lock it away, I'd eat it and swallow it down. I'd push it back in, I'd submerge it, I'd put a lid on it. I would banish it to a time when I could deal with it. Which was never. Do we ever allow ourselves to experience those darkest of feelings? The pain and sorrow of grief, the fury and rage of anger? How often are we allowed to let those feelings out? Or are we always told by society, told by others, told by everyone to keep it in, to not be so public, to be 'a man', to be strong, to put on our big girls pants, to deny that which is part of the human experience? And what happens to those most powerful of feelings when we suppress them? Do they magically go away? No, they don't. They don't. They manifest in us physically as illnesses, as cancer, as pain and more pain. They manifest in us emotionally as depression and mania, as schizophrenia and madness. They bubble to the surface, no matter the bandaid measures applied.
I've spent most of my life being sad and angry and afraid. I often hear my inner voice as it timidly says "I'm so scared... I'm so, so scared..." That's tragic. It's a tragic waste of life, spending it in fear! And I used to be so angry, but I'm not now. I burned all the anger out two weeks ago when I harnessed it all to deal with the salvation of whatever was left in the burned out remains of what had been my home... my home, my lost home. I'm still scared. I'm still sad. I have moments of such profound and utter grief in which I let all of my past pain out along with the present. There is no holding back, this time.
I can now see part of the gift I have been given. The gift of this 'now', this time, when I can heal all the past pain and sorrow, heal all the anger and injustice, heal the bitterness and the jealousy, heal the grief and the loss, let go of all the suffering and guilt that has been 'me' up until now. Up until now I have been defined by my journey through this life. Marg Thomson, artist, writer, painter, poet, depressive, PTSD sufferer, survivor of rape and abuse, ugly, fat, old, unloveable, unworthy, unwanted, talented, creative, strong, powerful, passionate, compassionate, articulate, sufferer of FMS, cat woman, bird whisperer, proud and loving mother, great friend, etc.
I could continue to define myself with these parameters but I've been handed an opportunity to change. A sweeping gift that encompasses all that was and leaves me here in limbo with nothing but my history and an open and blank page for my future. I could choose to keep any and all of what I have been up to now, or I could discard everything and start again. What a choice. What a gift. What an opportunity.
Do I discard the identity I struggled all those years to create? Do I shatter the illusory image of "WHO I WAS" and be reborn?
It's all an illusion, really, isn't it?
Seven weeks ago, a fire destroyed my home, taking with it everything that I was, everything I created, everything I had. It left me this woman I am now, empty, scared, sad and tired. But I'm also feeling a small tendril of hope, a whisper of adventure, a sigh of happiness. It's all up to me.
It's ALL up to me.
Love you all long time xoxoxoxo