As I said in an earlier post, I was missing for several days because I had lost myself.  I have since found Broken Grace.  And as I suspected, she was on the bathroom floor, curled into a ball and wrapped tightly in a blue blanket drinking two-buck chuck straight from the bottle.   She still wishes to hide.

I woke up this morning feeling like my insides have been completely ravaged and wasted of any good feelings and the desire to just give up and never come out of hiding again is strong.   I am not in a good place right now.  I am too tired to battle the demons in my head.   I am broken!  Broken!  And broken Grace cannot deal with the constant headaches and nausea.  She cannot handle the chronic pain with no relief.  She’s broken.  Shattered. 

I am not managing.  I am hiding.  No one sees me.  There is no outlet for my screams and my tears.  So I internalize them and they echo inside my head.   No, I am not managing at all.  I am struggling in a big way.   But no one in my life knows how I feel.  It’s been 11 days.  11 days!!!!  11 days and he will not leave.  11 days and she cannot breathe.  11 days with not a minute of peace or relief.  11 days!

Why, why would this be, Broken Grace?  Can you not just concede that this is all there is?  This pathetic acceptance of facing that this is “as good as it gets”.  THIS – this is it, Broken Grace.   Strangely, I have no desire to cry tonight, nor am I holding tears at bay.  They are not there.  That’s unusual, as of late.  I must be “managing” ~ “coping”.  Or, perhaps this is just another death of me.  Debris spread out on the inside of me, a charred soul, a shattered heart. 

Here he sits, beside me, breathing on my neck, touching my leg, talking to me.  I feel him.  I smell him.  I hear him.  I FEEL him.  I am unable to move.  You may say, he isn’t really here.  You are safe, Broken Grace.  He can’t hurt you now.  He is dead.  You can do this.  You can not just survive but “live”.

Can I?  Is he?  Is he really dead?  If he is really dead then why do I continue to hear him, and feel him.  Why does my body ache now as it did then?  Why can I not sleep?  Why can I not eat? It’s been nearly 30 years…so why does it feel like it is now?  If he is gone than I am doing all of this to myself.  Does that make it my fault?  Why can’t I stop it then?  Why?   Why?  Why?  Why? 

There are no answers, are there?  There’s nothing.  I’m going to go hide away again.  I’m afraid.  I’m hurting.  I’m not who I want to be…I am not who I need to be.  I am nothing.  I am no one.  I am broken.