What Do I Want More Of?

I have this longing, this yearning, for a deep, passionate, connection. Yes, with God, always. But something in me knows this will be realized in human form.

Yet, I dare say I must first give what I want because in so doing, I will know I already have.

All the ways in which I want love are showing up in ways that I am judging. No, not this one. Nope, not this one either. No thanks.

But here it is. I keep asking and receiving yet won’t accept.

This is where I know I cannot withhold from anyone that which I want. Yet, to some I do not want to give – to fore-give. And this is where death to self will happen.

“If someone slaps you on the right cheek, offer the other cheek also.”

Oh boy…


Familiar territory. It’s black.

I sit.

There isn’t anything in the world that I can think of doing that will make things feel any better.

Everyone I know would want to help, would want me to tell them what they can do to help. There isn’t anything.

All I want is for someone to take it away. But they can’t.

Why is this my lot?

Empty. Hollow.

People look on with pity. I stand helpless with tears streaming down my face.

It’s not a state of mind I can change at whim.

People want to hug and say, “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay.

I don’t even feel the hug. A hug has no reassurance, no consolation.

There’s a piece deep within that is completely disconnected.

I don’t feel peace.

I want to. But it’s not even a feeling I can will, it’s like it doesn’t even exist within me.

I don’t know where to find it.


And the fact that no one can help makes me feel more alone.


Breaking the Pain Barrier

My husband is angry that I left him.

I told him that I understand his anger and that’s he’s probably thinking, “Fuck her! She left me, it’s her fault. Why should I have to do anything (quit drinking, get help, etc.)?”

A sly yet agreeing smile turned up the corners of his mouth. I suggested that he should say it out loud, that it might feel good for him. He wouldn’t do it though. His reason being that he has too much respect for me.


I wanted to scream and get nasty. Respect? Does the word respect come into play at all when ignoring your wife’s tears and pleas for 20 years? I bit my tongue though because I know that anger begets anger and that it serves no purpose for me to win a position. I’m not trying to be right, there is no personal right. I mean, to him, he’s just as right as I might think I am. So really, who is right?

All I know is that I was living in a situation that I couldn’t stand to live in, or with, any longer so I removed myself from it. He, too, is also in a situation that he can do something about and just because he’s not doing what I hoped he would do doesn’t make him wrong. We’re at an impasse.

However, when I think about the amount of time that we’ve been apart now, I start to wonder what the hell I’m doing. Perhaps I should go back so we can work on things. I mean, after all, I do love him. But I can’t.

Do I really want to return to the comfortable and familiar pain of old? Just because I’m feeling discomfort right now doesn’t mean I should go back. I need to hold right now, endure.

What I have learned over the past several months is that pain is not always an indication that something is wrong. I think we fear pain too easily and so retreat, and in doing so we often miss the potential for the transmutation of old into new. I think when pain is at its highest is when the potential for change is at it’s greatest.

So, I’m not going back. I will sit amidst this new discomfort, thank you very much, and welcome the pain and wait patiently for the barrier to break and the metamorphosis to occur.

RETRO – Monday, March 10, 2014

I wanted to share a past journal entry of mine that I wrote during my recovery process. When I remember the past, I am grateful for the present and hopeful for the future. Though recovered now, I still get it. I understand it – and I marvel at the change.

March 10, 2014

I am anguished and ashamed.

The definition of anguish – “Severe mental or physical pain or suffering; extreme distress.”

It’s 5:00 p.m. and I’m hungry. So I eat. Again. There is only one hour before dinner and I can’t wait even one hour. Now it’s 6:30 p.m. and I have just finished eating. Again.

My appetite is out of control. I’m so physically uncomfortable. The skin on my stomach feels stretched to the max. It keeps growing and getting bigger. It hurts so bad. It’s disgusting. I’ve lost myself. I can’t control myself and my body keeps growing. I’m hideous. It hurts; everything hurts. I can’t escape. I’m stuck. I don’t want to go back but I can’t stand this. I feel like I’m in the eye of the storm being tossed around. The grief is unbearable.