Friday, August 18, 2006
The heartbreaking commonplace
I really like that term. It's from C.S. Lewis's book "A Grief Observed", and as soon as I heard it, it really struck a chord with me. I haven't pieced together why it so resonates with me, but it does, and I'm keeping it.
I have been feeling heartbroken lately, though for no one particular reason. I feel as though I am somehow two people...One Stephanie is a competent, steady, responsible person who has, for some reason, been given a lot of favor lately in the way of work, housing, etc. People like and trust that Stephanie. That Stephanie is looked upon as being dependable, reliabe, and capable. That Stephanie likes being seen that way, and responds well to it, feeling confident and competent, able to handle whatever challenges are thrown at her. That Stephanie walks into work with a smile, works hard throughout the day, maintaining a "take charge" attitude, necessary to get the job done. That Stephanie is confident with her friends, able to maintain a conversation, tell a joke, and somehow, shine just a little.
But, there is another Stephanie, one that few people see. That Stephanie...the real me...is always there, always under the surface. I've learned not to show too many people the real me. There are only a handful of people in this world you can trust enough to let them see you as you really are, and I've learned through trial and error that there are not many people who want to know the real me. Or, the other me. The other side.
The other side of me is desperately sad most of the time. Especially lately. I feel always at the edge of despair, as if any small thing could be the thing that is enough to push me over the edge and bring an end to this terrible mess called life. On the other side of who I am, there is the yearning for finality, the sense of despair that comes with waking up every morning, facing another day. Another day, like so many other days, trying to keep the desperation and the sadness at bay long enough to get through a day somewhat productively. Another day of wrestling against the darkness, trying not to be consumed by it. Another day of aching to just hide away in my bed, sleeping off the sadness.
I've had so many days like this over the years. So very many. There does not seem to be anything, and certainly not anyone, that really helps bring an end to the desperation which threatens always to swallow me whole. Lately, I ache to cry with red tears again, but I get tired of people asking me about the wounds. It's easier...so much easier...to just keep it inside than it is to lay it all out on the table in the hopes that someone will understand. I don't even understand it, and can't expect anyone else to.
As I anticipate moving, I am hopeful that some internal changes for the better will come with it. Yet, I realize I cannot move away from myself, and this scares me. I always seem to find me, after awhile, and I find that I am no different than I was before I made the decisions that were supposed to change my life. Whether I live here or there, have this job or that job, this relationship or no relationship at all, I am still myself...and much of the time, I utterly despise myself, and there is no getting away from that.
It can't be right, this dread of looking in the mirror or hearing my own name. The thing that has haunted me for as long as I can remember is rearing its ugly head again, with a loud roar and a hungry sneer.
Hello, beastie.
I have been feeling heartbroken lately, though for no one particular reason. I feel as though I am somehow two people...One Stephanie is a competent, steady, responsible person who has, for some reason, been given a lot of favor lately in the way of work, housing, etc. People like and trust that Stephanie. That Stephanie is looked upon as being dependable, reliabe, and capable. That Stephanie likes being seen that way, and responds well to it, feeling confident and competent, able to handle whatever challenges are thrown at her. That Stephanie walks into work with a smile, works hard throughout the day, maintaining a "take charge" attitude, necessary to get the job done. That Stephanie is confident with her friends, able to maintain a conversation, tell a joke, and somehow, shine just a little.
But, there is another Stephanie, one that few people see. That Stephanie...the real me...is always there, always under the surface. I've learned not to show too many people the real me. There are only a handful of people in this world you can trust enough to let them see you as you really are, and I've learned through trial and error that there are not many people who want to know the real me. Or, the other me. The other side.
The other side of me is desperately sad most of the time. Especially lately. I feel always at the edge of despair, as if any small thing could be the thing that is enough to push me over the edge and bring an end to this terrible mess called life. On the other side of who I am, there is the yearning for finality, the sense of despair that comes with waking up every morning, facing another day. Another day, like so many other days, trying to keep the desperation and the sadness at bay long enough to get through a day somewhat productively. Another day of wrestling against the darkness, trying not to be consumed by it. Another day of aching to just hide away in my bed, sleeping off the sadness.
I've had so many days like this over the years. So very many. There does not seem to be anything, and certainly not anyone, that really helps bring an end to the desperation which threatens always to swallow me whole. Lately, I ache to cry with red tears again, but I get tired of people asking me about the wounds. It's easier...so much easier...to just keep it inside than it is to lay it all out on the table in the hopes that someone will understand. I don't even understand it, and can't expect anyone else to.
As I anticipate moving, I am hopeful that some internal changes for the better will come with it. Yet, I realize I cannot move away from myself, and this scares me. I always seem to find me, after awhile, and I find that I am no different than I was before I made the decisions that were supposed to change my life. Whether I live here or there, have this job or that job, this relationship or no relationship at all, I am still myself...and much of the time, I utterly despise myself, and there is no getting away from that.
It can't be right, this dread of looking in the mirror or hearing my own name. The thing that has haunted me for as long as I can remember is rearing its ugly head again, with a loud roar and a hungry sneer.
Hello, beastie.
// posted by Jaden's Mom @ 8/18/2006 10:46:00 PM 
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