Updated: 5 days ago
The pain passes, but the beauty remains. -Pierre-Auguste Renoir
Sometimes in the depths of earth shattering heartache, those moments where I feel if I don’t wrap my arms and squeeze until only shallow breaths are permitted into my lungs so I don’t fall apart; am I able to see anything but my past, my pain, and the absence of my little girl. The beauty in the breakdown is more visible as sobriety time flourishes, but the breaking of my heart seems to remain. Some days are much better, and don’t get me wrong. I don’t cry myself to sleep every night anymore, but would be lying if I said I don’t cry myself to sleep. I’d be lying if I said I still have moments where I replay painful memories that I am well aware I cannot change, and I’d surely be lying if I said I don’t sob until there are no tears left in my ducts. There are also moments where I wipe my tears, I look at myself in the mirror, and I tell that poor soul she is enough. I tell her she is a good person and her past does not define her, and I remind her of all the people that she has helped since making that decision January 19, 2019. I tell her she IS a great mom, that she was sick, and she made some poor choices do to this illness. And I also tell her she is worthy of love, she is worthy of happiness, and she deserves to be freed from self condemnation. My mind plays tricks on me, and will tell me nothing of the sorts, of the monster I will always remain and that I don’t deserve a drop of anything resembling love, happiness, or eternal peace. I say my mind, when in all reality it is satan himself; that vindictive tormentor, thief of joy, and destructor of all that is good in the world. So today I say, and pray you do too; not today Satan; not tomorrow, not ever!
2.) Self worth
3.) Self love
4.) Warm hands to hold
5.) Soft hugs and a shoulder to cry on
6.) The owner of that shoulder and the solace they provide
7.) Unconditional love
8.) Elise Corinne
9.) Jamie, my warm hands, hugs, shoulder, and constant reminder I am enough
10.) Loved ones
I will never feel 100% ok with the events that transpired leading to my daughter and I living in separate homes. I will never be ok tormenting myself and replaying the past and the things I cannot change either. I guess like picking up the bottle though, I have a choice. I need to make those choices out of self love, and like that insidious bottle; find a way to make it simply not an option.