"Ache"

 

It's nothing new. I ache.

It's physical. Psychological. Emotional. Encompassing ache.

I probably shouldn't talk about how I feel or what I think. I've been informed by the powers that be that my views, feelings, thoughts, voice...they're all obsolete and unwanted. Fair enough. Everyone isn't going to accept, love, want, listen to you or even take you seriously. These are the facts.

I've made my mistakes, said my fucked up things, broken trust, lied & had them all done to me in return. I've been screamed at and made to feel like trash. Worse than the worst and rest assured, the worst has been explained at great length on multiple occasions like it was gospel. I've now been placed in that circle. Okay. You get what you deserve right?

So now this is where I am: angry at myself, my ex-partner, life, genetics, loss (more than one and on more than one plane), misunderstanding, miscommunication, etc. I'm angry and can't talk to one person who knows better than any and can't open the floor to anyone else. So now I have to write again. Something that used to be fun and exciting is now a fucking tool for therapy.

It feels like having something else beautiful being stolen from my grasp. Another thing to be mad at. Theft of life. Straight up life being taken without a heads-up. Oh yeah, found out after the fact...after I opened my fat fucking mouth and expressed: "Yeah I saw her. She was going to be so amazing, so wonderful, so absolutely fantastic."

So much for that.

Dead. Gone. Ripped away. Stolen & buried & hidden until one lowly extra on the scene made a comment and the pieces come together to show a child sized chalk outline and they still don't have an idea where the body is...it's enough to make you hate everything and everyone.

Self definitely included. First and foremost.

So I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm constantly sick and bleed. Literally, not figuratively. On top of that I can't begin to get the healing because the person I should be talking to, the person i want & need to talk to isn't having it. "He doesn't begin to know or get it or understand. He wasn't there. He didn't even want her. He didn't love her. Clearly he didn't because he doesn't love me, so it stands to reason he definitely doesn't love her. He doesn't need to know about her."

And I didn't for awhile...sometimes I wish I hadn't, but that would make me the coward. The guy who runs from the pain of loss. The so-called man who puts it all away and doesn't know where to go from here. 

Yes. I hate myself for having even had that feeling. That thought. That selfish want to just not have to deal with it. It's okay though. I have to deal with it. I will deal with it.

I will will deal with it alone, as I should, because my ache isn't the kind of pressure that someone else has to take on. My ache is mine and mine alone. No one has it in them to help me and me asking for that help is equally selfish.

I will be the one to make her a safe place, one for her and I to connect.

I will be the one to make sure she's heard and loved.

I will be the one who holds her harder, closer & more diligently because I am the one who digs in and takes the damage of the end of the world and cares not for himself.

I will take the horrors of being without her and I will do so with a swollen, oozing heart, kept beating by the hearts that are in need. Some of those hearts are out of touch and out of reach. They didn't need or want.

Her heart does.

I will stand steady for her.

I won't let her feel left behind by her father.

It's nothing new. I ache.