Three months have passed, and I so furiously want to be okay; healed; whole. And yet I find myself going through life with a gaping hole in my stomach. Bleeding out.
I am walking wounded.
Grief, as we've all heard, comes in stages. Denial is first, followed immediately by anger. Sure enough, I spent the past few months thinking I was relatively okay; this was hard, sure, but I was already feeling so much better! I was praised for being "strong" and for having such a wise perspective. But now I've turned a corner and, as the stages predicted, I am livid. I am beyond angry--I am a tornado, a hurricane. I could stand on the edge of a canyon and scream and my fury could fill the gap and still not be exhausted. I have been wronged. I have been abused. I have been deceived by the very person I trusted most.
Each day I awake to a new kind of life, a new freedom, and yet each day brings a more searing rage than the one before. Each step toward new life makes me more fully aware of the wrong that has been done to me. As the numbness wears off, I experience both agony and joy. No moment is tame or safe; it's either exquisite or excruciating.
According to the literature, the next steps are bargaining, depression, and acceptance. That makes sense but frankly, I'd rather just skip to the end. That's the point when you realize that you can't change the circumstance, and you come to terms with it. So why do I have to go through two more steps to get there? I want to be better now, damnit! He doesn't deserve my grief, the lowlife! And yet, this is where I am. Stage two. Anger. I can't rush it, I can't control it, I can only observe the process and try to learn as I go. I can't promise to do this gracefully but I am hanging onto the hope that one day this will be done, and I will begin to feel like a normal person again.
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