From a perspective of compassion…

I wrote a post recently about feeling at a loss.  I thought maybe someone would share their thoughts and it might help.  I am grateful that someone did.

I have had so much anger at so many people, because my heart was hurt so badly.  I did not want to feel the pain and I was using my anger to protect myself.

A couple of weeks ago I was reading something from a site on PTSD.  (If I could find it, I would have linked to it.)  In the article, the idea was not to run from the pain, or avoid it with other emotions.   To actually allow yourself to feel the emotions.   I made the decision to do that and the result was pretty horrible at the start.  It hurts.  I can’t express the emotions in any sort of short way, I don’t need to.

At some point, I thought if I could only see some kind of something, some sort of spiritual awakening kind of thing.  Anything is possible.

At this point, I did not feel anger, just an intense sadness and loss.  I didn’t want to feel it, only I couldn’t seem to bring back the anger.  Most likely because I knew it would be worse than before.

It was this past Tuesday, a phone call, a piece of information given to me during that phone call and it set me off.  I knew if I started talking, the words that came out of my mouth would be the kind you can’t take back.  I hung up the phone to avoid this.  They called me back after a few minutes and I thought it would be fine to answer, I was wrong.

The words came.  I said them.   I screamed them.  I hung up the phone,  and I ran.  I grabbed my bag and my phone and I ran.  I called a friend and started asking her why?  Why is it like this?  Fucking why?  Why won’t someone tell me why?

Then he was there.  I told him to stay away from me, but he wouldn’t.  What happened next could have been tragic.    He tried to hug me and I tried to pull away.  We fell and still he tried to hug me.  He didn’t know I had the wind knocked out of me and I couldn’t breath.  I’m pushing him and he won’t let go.

I start swinging at him, still he won’t let go.  I can’t breath and he won’t let go.  I hit him again.  He got up and started to run.  He has his hand over his face and he ran.  I tried to yell for him, but I still wasn’t breathing and I couldn’t make a sound.  I tried to chase him and fell again.  I lay there not breathing, watching him run away.  I can’t scream his name.  I can’t get up.

You aren’t supposed to hit someone.  I hit him in the face with my bag.   He doesn’t know I couldn’t breath and he is gone.  When I was able to catch my breath I went back.  He was gone.  Somehow, my phone was gone.

Facebook, someone please call him, tell him I am worried,  I want him to come home, I want to know he is ok.

He doesn’t answer.  Five hours.  Five hours of the image of the one person in the world that I love and loves me, the best friend I have ever had in my life, someone who has given everything to me and he is running, I can’t do anything and I don’t know if he is bleeding, if he is hurt badly, if he is coming home.

I know what it is to really not have a voice.  When it mattered the most, I had literally no voice.  For five hours I thought of what that meant to me.

The one person that listens to my voice, hears my words.  I prayed.  To someone, something, I did not care.  I begged and I pleaded, I swore I would let it go, if only he came home.  Nothing else mattered, no one else mattered.

The people who refuse to listen don’t matter.  The people who intentionally misunderstand don’t matter.  The people that just don’t know don’t matter.

Five hours and he came home.

I swore to let it go.  The only way I can find a pathway to do that is from a perspective of compassion.  I need to look at things from the perspectives of the ones that hurt me.  I have the ability, I have only refused.  I have kept myself imprisoned.  Now, I will look.  It will take time.

In this process, I will write letters to people I used to know.  Some will be posted publicly.  Some password protected.

This is a process of healing for me.  For the individuals that have told me I should not write.  Honestly, writing is what I do, if you don’t want to read it that is fine.  Someone else maybe benefit.  I won’t stop writing again.

Perspective of compassion.  A pathway to freedom.

 

 

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