A healing journal can be whatever you need it to be.
For me, I need a place to share some of my soul.
This journal takes place in Lansing and Kalamazoo, MI.
I am not afraid to heal.
Sometimes having a physical place to go isn't enough. Remember all the stories about ghosts and the paranormal you've heard? The lore is that when a spirit doesn't know it needs to "pass over" it will continually try to find it's place among us, the living, wreaking havoc because it is tormented not knowing where it belongs or what happened to it. I felt the same way. I had couches and rooms from which to sleep, refrigerators from which to eat, faces at which to look but couldn't find my resting place. I felt like I was blocked by an impermeable glass wall. People's thoughts and feelings were muffled. I felt like I heard one thing and saw another. People were dropping away from me as if I carried an incredible stench. I knew it was because of my ghost, of what I represented. I represented loss, angst, hurt, trouble, regret, resentment, and separation. None of which was really my responsibility to represent or carry, but I did because no one else would help. I cried out to my husband to help save me, but I couldn't get him to understand the waves I was being dashed against and the emotional upset I was experiencing, the hell I was living in. The feeling is similar to placing plastic over your face and trying to breathe. You know the breathing is killing you but you still breathe because you can't stop. It's the body's natural mechanism to survival and living.
And then my sister offered to let me stay with her. She peeled off the plastic and showed me a slice of heaven, with gentleness, a quiet voice, white walls, and white-ish carpet (this angel has three babies of her own). She talked to me about life, her life, her life without me, and I talked back. I'd hear my words echoing out while inside I scrambled to cover up whatever nakedness I could be showing. I've never had siblings I've been attached to because of everything that's happened, and the adopted sister I'd known my whole life and loved so much despite everything I heard about her I knew had experienced hurt much like myself. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to bond with a new sister, but I knew I could try. I never had siblings on my family tree that I knew who shared my bloodline until recently, and learning how to be a good sibling was a challenge I really wanted to take.
We both had new-mom hormones raging in our blood cells. But I knew mutual support could carry us through it. Young wifehood also offered itself as a talkable topic, and we went on to share the likes and passions that we have. I am trying to open up. I think of myself as a child who fell and deeply scraped their leg, and has had multiple people attempt to bandage it while the child quietly gazes at each of them, wondering in their heart if this person will always love them and want them. To this child, there are always new people, new challenges, and new fears. And some of them are very dangerous because they hold out their love and acceptance and snatch it back right when my inner child cries out for it and needs that bandage. Trusting in one's sincerity is very hard. My fear is always that there is something about me that is too difficult, too wrong, too unacceptable, too frustrating. This fear has been confirmed many times, and each time I make another attempt to be accepted my health bar flickers.
My heart is weakened and I long to escape this kind of torment. I see my restoration available on the other side of flickering flames. I look back to see I've already made it past several checkpoints and have yet more to acquire. I'm exhausted but I don't regret any of the angels I've met along the way nor any of the burns I've received so far. I know that active pursuit of healing is necessary for my journey to continue. And I'm not afraid.
For me, I need a place to share some of my soul.
This journal takes place in Lansing and Kalamazoo, MI.
I am not afraid to heal.
Sometimes having a physical place to go isn't enough. Remember all the stories about ghosts and the paranormal you've heard? The lore is that when a spirit doesn't know it needs to "pass over" it will continually try to find it's place among us, the living, wreaking havoc because it is tormented not knowing where it belongs or what happened to it. I felt the same way. I had couches and rooms from which to sleep, refrigerators from which to eat, faces at which to look but couldn't find my resting place. I felt like I was blocked by an impermeable glass wall. People's thoughts and feelings were muffled. I felt like I heard one thing and saw another. People were dropping away from me as if I carried an incredible stench. I knew it was because of my ghost, of what I represented. I represented loss, angst, hurt, trouble, regret, resentment, and separation. None of which was really my responsibility to represent or carry, but I did because no one else would help. I cried out to my husband to help save me, but I couldn't get him to understand the waves I was being dashed against and the emotional upset I was experiencing, the hell I was living in. The feeling is similar to placing plastic over your face and trying to breathe. You know the breathing is killing you but you still breathe because you can't stop. It's the body's natural mechanism to survival and living.
And then my sister offered to let me stay with her. She peeled off the plastic and showed me a slice of heaven, with gentleness, a quiet voice, white walls, and white-ish carpet (this angel has three babies of her own). She talked to me about life, her life, her life without me, and I talked back. I'd hear my words echoing out while inside I scrambled to cover up whatever nakedness I could be showing. I've never had siblings I've been attached to because of everything that's happened, and the adopted sister I'd known my whole life and loved so much despite everything I heard about her I knew had experienced hurt much like myself. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to bond with a new sister, but I knew I could try. I never had siblings on my family tree that I knew who shared my bloodline until recently, and learning how to be a good sibling was a challenge I really wanted to take.
We both had new-mom hormones raging in our blood cells. But I knew mutual support could carry us through it. Young wifehood also offered itself as a talkable topic, and we went on to share the likes and passions that we have. I am trying to open up. I think of myself as a child who fell and deeply scraped their leg, and has had multiple people attempt to bandage it while the child quietly gazes at each of them, wondering in their heart if this person will always love them and want them. To this child, there are always new people, new challenges, and new fears. And some of them are very dangerous because they hold out their love and acceptance and snatch it back right when my inner child cries out for it and needs that bandage. Trusting in one's sincerity is very hard. My fear is always that there is something about me that is too difficult, too wrong, too unacceptable, too frustrating. This fear has been confirmed many times, and each time I make another attempt to be accepted my health bar flickers.
My heart is weakened and I long to escape this kind of torment. I see my restoration available on the other side of flickering flames. I look back to see I've already made it past several checkpoints and have yet more to acquire. I'm exhausted but I don't regret any of the angels I've met along the way nor any of the burns I've received so far. I know that active pursuit of healing is necessary for my journey to continue. And I'm not afraid.
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