Archive | November 2013

A Heart’s Drip


what a luxury it was for people to be able to hold their loved ones whenever they wanted.” ~Cecelia Ahern

tears

I am almost certain that I recently broke. I laughed. I did not just emit properly timed laughter; I really laughed, almost hysterically. At some point during mid-laughter, I sobbed. Just like that. My laughter transformed into pitiful wails instantly. I could not stop. I sobbed that way for almost a solid hour, just gasping for air in between gut-wrenching sobs. Oddly enough, I do not remember what was so damn funny in the first place; it was something I saw on the television. It was during the next moments that I woke.

Really. I did. I just felt different, not better or worse, just different. I guess I finished another stage. Following my break, tears just continued to flow down my face. I know because the tears tickled my face and I would have to wipe them away. Sometimes, a tear would quickly make its way down my cheek and fall onto my book. Just like that—drip . . . drip . . . drip. It must be comparable to existing as a leaky faucet. I remember wondering if there was a way to turn the faucet off. (Note to self—there is not an arrow on one’s heart directing which way one should turn for off).

I spent the next day in silence. Total silence. I did not turn on the radio or television. The only sound I heard was the sound of the wind whenever I walked my dog and the occasional drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . of the faucet from my heart.

“When Grandma read me:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall . . .

                            I never
knew
that
Humpty’s
fall
was
something
that
someday
comes
to
us
all.”

(Lee Bennett Hopkins)

 And there is not one fuckin’ king’s man or horse who can put Humpty Dumpty back together or one fuckin’ plumber who can fix a heart’s drip. Not one.

©Relinda R. 2013

An Embodiment of Lovely Bones . . . in the Flesh


“One who will not accept solitude, stillness and quiet recurring moments…is caught up in the wilderness of addictions; far removed from an original state of being and awareness. This is ‘dis-ease.” ~T. F. Hodge

maskgriefI spoke with someone last night who is very disappointed in me, a voice that indicated how lazy and apathetic I have become since I died. Yes, you read that correctly. I died four years ago and began a slow and arduous descent into a fiery well of capitulation; a fiery well alluding to the hell I created. I am beyond societal manipulation; I am my own judge and I condemned myself to hell.  Edgar Cayce once proclaimed, “All you may know of heaven or hell is within your own self,” indeed, Mr. Cayce, indeed.

I spent the last 1,414 days sinking deeper into oblivion as numbness seized my still beating heart. Numbness is a coping mechanism-perhaps, but an insufficient tool at best. I am merely an embodiment of lovely bones, a walking corpse capable of smiling on demand and laughing when appropriate, sometimes at inappropriate times. At night, however, at night-the tears come when I clutch a fading red scrunchie and the pillow that has long lost his scent. I spent almost 1,500 nights lost in desperation, crying to the point where only occasional gasps for air indicate life. I am merely a heap of bones emitting the most frightful sounds known, unquenchable sobs of loss—loss of love, loss of life, and loss of dreams. I sent telepathic postcards from hell to indicate my frustration at continuing to breathe. I immersed myself into a void so dark that I could only see an occasional glimmer of Hope cowering in a corner to escape annihilation.

insanityIt took nearly 1,500 days and nights for this broken heap of lovely bones to accept the final hand the Moirai dealt to me. There is no escape from hell, but there is atonement for inactivity. There is a rope for which to cling. Last night, a voice told me to cling with all my might and accept my fate. I have much work to complete before I can begin my ascent into light. I will never be released until I accept my sentence. The lazy apathetic heap of lovely bones I became will only continue a slow descent into the depths of desolation until I accept solitude. Learning to exist without love is my penance for lifetimes of depending on another . . . loving beyond the bounds of comprehension.

I woke with understanding, with a clear mission, clinging tightly to an invisible rope and knowing I can escape hell only by abandoning humanity’s curse of the undeniable quest to be loved by another. I was loved, I was adored, my quest was fulfilled. And until I abandon this selfish journey of wishing for more, I only sink deeper into the fiery well of capitulation. I woke to the faintest glimmer of light from above as I realized Hope still lives, though he continues to cower in a corner. He whispered to me to accept my fate and motioned to me to climb his way. And it is with that image, this heap of lovely bones will work harder than ever before, abandoning humanity’s curse to escape solitude and instead embracing the sounds of silence and accepting the harsh pangs of loneliness, all while concentrating wholly on its tasks at hand.

luminescence

I spoke with myself last night and learned how disappointed I am at how lazy and apathetic I have become since I died. I woke determined to prove that I am strong enough to overcome solitude and accept my penance. I am an embodiment of lovely bones only until I escape the confines of my hell. I will live again one day. But not today. Today, I begin my atonement.

©2013 Relinda R.

from Shades of Grief


sadPeople have told me they do not understand how I keep going. People have told me they don’t know what they would do if they lost their husband or their wife. I try to explain how it feels to have your world turned completely upside down and question everything you ever knew. I’ve tried to explain how it feels knowing that you will never again be loved. How does absolute misery feel? It feels a little like this—like you are fighting your way through a blizzard and the snowflakes keep growing until they each weigh a hundred pounds, pummeling you until your knees feel weak and you sink to the ground desperately clinging to one visible branch in the whiteout—only your whiteout is dark—complete darkness. You grope blindly reaching for some anchor, some semblance of stability. You grasp a tiny branch that seems connected only to air. You pull with all your might to prevent the wind from carrying you into the darkness, but the tiny branch begins to bend under the force of your desperation until it breaks in two and you go flying into the darkness. You are not thrown against a boulder or a tree; you just float aimlessly on the wind while hundred pound snowflakes pound your body endlessly. Grief is like that . . . only you never stop floating on the violent wind, you never find shelter from the cold, and you seldom grab an anchor. If you do manage to find a stable hold, it is only for seconds until the anchor breaks . . . and then you continue floating through the darkness . . . all alone. Endlessly.

©Relinda Shades of Grief