Dark Night of the Soul.
Desperation.
Impatience.
Depression.
These are hardly creative sounding words (on the surface anyway.) I got help. Once a week I chat with a counselor that I worked with for 8 years beginning about 20 years after my baby died. She has been a godsend. Somedays I couldn't even talk I felt so confused about how I was feeling. She needed to come up with creative questions to find a way to get me to find my voice.
Slowly I'm starting to understand the scope of my loss and put names to specific feelings that I have. I'm grasping that one really can't climb to the top of the mountain in one giant step. It takes a long time. It takes care and sometimes planning. One can get so tired and long for relief from the arduous task ahead. Rests become a necessity. For me napping became my relief. Books have been a great escape. Escape what? His "goneness" was relentless.
No comments:
Post a Comment