delara, interrupted

In many religious traditions and scriptures, in literature and in mystical reflections on the world, there is often a correlation made between love and pain. The two seem to mysteriously go hand in hand. In whatever finite, imperfect, inadequate manner, I get it now. What I haven’t written about too much is the darker side of my experience over the past few years.

I haven’t really shared much about the many nights I would cry myself to sleep, the times I would angrily shake my fist toward the sky as if to scold God, the moments of desperation and fear that were so intense I honestly thought I might be going crazy. I haven’t really written about all the times I would scream at the top of my lungs as I drove home alone from a friend’s house at night. Or about the way I would just be so completely drained and tired that I had no desire to engage with other people in any way and would simply stay in bed for a whole day.

I haven’t said anything about the way I would start crying if I drove past a car on the highway and noticed a baby carrier in the backseat. I neglected to mention that there was a sinking feeling in my heart when I would receive the latest issue of “Fit Pregnancy” in the mail. I never really talked about all the physical pain I was experiencing that led to many physical therapy sessions and chiropractic treatment, the loss of appetite that contributed to my weight loss, the feeling of being physically drained all the time.

The dreams – lost. Hopes – dashed. The image of what I thought I wanted my life to be about – dissolved.

It wasn’t anything personal, by the way, that I didn’t share it. I just thought that when people asked me, “How are you doing?” they really didn’t want to hear me say, “Pretty shitty, thanks for asking.”

The amazing thing was that it was all so transitory. One day, I would be feeling tired and sad, the next day I wanted nothing except to spend time with a loved one. In one moment I would feel furious and angry with myself and with God, and the next moment would bring a wave of love so powerful I could feel nothing but humility and gratitude.

Above all, the true blessing was that I allowed myself to feel it all. I didn’t edit my experience. And in being real and honest with my feelings, I got to know myself pretty well. A night-watchman can take very interesting forms sometimes. Hm.