I want to be young again sometimes—often lately.
It hurts to feel I’ve missed out on so much.
My psychiatrist says those of us who suffer much have a special role to play once we’re healed. A purpose. She is like a spiritual mentor. Teacher more than doctor really. So— I have a purpose, she says.
Not knowing what that is yet, sometimes I just mourn my lost life.
It’s okay, it feels good to just feel. Pure mourning. No sense of being a victim or feeling sorry for myself. No—this is different. At it’s core it is compassion. I am loving the part of me that has been hurt and respecting her by allowing myself to feel the great sense of loss I have.
I look towards the day this all makes sense. And I trust that it will. There is a sense of purpose in how my life is unfolding—like it has a direction. But that doesn’t make the pain less. The resurfacing of emotion bubbling forth as I come off more and more of the drugs. I suppose it will become more intense before it settles. But settle it will.
I believe I’ve regressed having my mother here. Tomorrow she will be gone. I love her even with all her faults, but I am so glad I will have my space once again.