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Re: The low-lows and the surprises of my current life...trying to process... [MidwestRoadie]
"I’m sorry that you’re in this place of pain. Nothing I can say will alleviate it. But you’re not alone, and I mean that as a point of solidarity, not comparison.

My life hit a wall a few years ago. What didn’t come apart frayed and cracked. I’m still twisting those loose threads; I’ll never be the same
.

In the turbulence, I reached out to my birth grandfather. I’d only briefly known him as a young boy. He was fleeting; his son, my birth father, an unknown. I thought my turbulence could pin down something that fled me, not recognizing that everything was fleeting in my life until then.

We met for an evening. He offered me a Coke and some topical conversation. It felt like visiting someone for a work assignment. I left my number. He said he wanted to see me again, to have me meet the family. The phone has never rang.


Here I am years later and knowing I’m about to hit another wall. I’m more stoic, more prepared, resolved. I am OK, nervous about the unknowns but knowing I’ll be fine. I always have been. But I recognize that my past, my fucked up family experience, has me as one who has lived without really letting anyone in. I’ve lived with edges, borders strong and resilient. But in keeping everyone at the edge of those, I’ve left much of myself alone inside, retreating only for me to come outside and leave much of myself inside. And now I’m tired. Just so fucking tired.

My life has been these edges, and the only way it can emerge from what’s to come is to destroy those. It’s going to be a barren moment, and he won’t be there to share a Coke and coach me through it. But there will be those who are. They’re not “family,” but they’re the ones I’ve left the edges to meet. They’ve been the ones constantly at the edges, throwing provisions over the wall, reminding me they’re there when I’m ready. It’s time to let them in. We have walls to break.

Last edited by: MidwestRoadie: Nov 14, 17 11:38"

Best wishes. I remember the day when I decided to leave the small closed room that it seemed I had been retreating into. But I never made it out of the fenced yard. The fence got smaller, more attractively kept and in some places even inviting, but it's still there.

To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.
Last edited by: Tsunami: Nov 14, 17 19:12

Edit Log:

  • Post edited by Tsunami (Dawson Saddle) on Nov 14, 17 19:12