I was asked again today whether I was really ready. Ready to move on. Ready to let ago. After three years, that's still not an easy question to answer. Of course I am. Who wouldn't be?
But then again, am I?
Where I am is not a pleasant place. But it is a familiar place. I know every nightmare. I know every sound. Every hurt. Every heartache. Every pain. I don't always know what will bring it on, but I know where I will end up. It's not a good place. But it's... comfortable. Letting go, moving on, means heading somewhere different. And different is scary. What if its really more of the same? What if its worse? What if pain really does beget pain? What if I forget? What if I don't forget?
I know I need to move on. For me. I know that staying where I am is wearing me out, little by little. Killing me from the inside a little more every day - even when it doesn't seem there is anything left in me to die. I know that if I stay where I am, someday it will kill me on the outside too. I know I will eventually give in to the demons inside my head, reminding me that Kurt has it so much better where he is now, inviting me - almost cajoling me - to join him. I know I cannot live like this forever. That it is only a matter of days, weeks, months. Only a matter of time. Moving on is my only other option. Something I must do, ready or not. The stakes are simply that great.
If only that made it easier....
I've gone to great lengths to try to move on. I've tried therapies conventional and outside the box - far outside my norm. I traveled hundreds of miles alone chasing hope, which I found but feel as though I must have left it there. I've faced my fears. But on a brave face. Tried faking it until I made it. I've taken many steps forward. And yet as I sit here today, I feel that I always end up right back where I started in the end...
There's still not much light in my tunnel. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I think my tunnel is starting to cave in....
I spend a lot of time these days looking in the mirror and asking myself what it is I want. What my goals are. In therapy, but also in life. As a mother, daughter, employee, employer, friend. As me. And really, it all comes down to one thing. I don't want to hurt any more. I want to feel "better".
Whatever better really means.....
I don't want to change everything about me. There are some things right now I consider a blessing. Some good that has come from all the bad.
I don't want to forget the importance of a minute, or the value of living it.
I don't want to stop living for today, rather than waiting for tomorrow.
I don't want to say I love you less.
I don't want to take the people in my life for granted, knowing that they may not be here again.
I don't want to forget the pain.
But I want to move beyond it. Or at least move with it. Let it help me, rather than hold me down.
I want to be able to drive over a bridge, and not wonder if the guardrail would support me if I chose to veer into the water. Approach a train and not think for a instant what would happen if my brakes failed, or if I chose not to stop.
I want to be able to approach a closed door and not panic that someone is dead on the other side.
I want to see Kurt alive, remember what I loved about his life, not hate about his death.
I want to appreciate what I have, rather than pine for what I am missing.
I want to be able to dance in the rain - literally and figuratively - not caring how others may see that.
I want to be able to do the things that remind me of him, and us - like eat a plate of roast beef, watch a movie, or walk the dog - with a smile instead of a tear.
I want to think of what was good and feel good. Smile and laugh a little more. And really mean it.
I want running water to be just that - running water. Not an omen of more.
I want to shower without ear plugs. Get into the shower without running my hand over "the" spot and remembering.
I want to be able to run my bathroom fan long enough to actually get the humidity out of the bathroom after a shower.
And I want to be able to take a bath. Just me, a tub full of water, and maybe a rubber duck.
That's all I really want. A simple bath. Its the one thing that, once accomplished, will signal to me that I really have moved on.
It shouldn't really be that hard, right.....
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