Pitter-Patter

The rare sound of rain falling on the roof may threaten to break the physical silence surrounding me, but not the hush in my heart.

There is a whiff of soup from the stove, a tick of the clock and a variety of dog licking, sniffing and snoring noises all around me.  My head is filled with the chatter of voices, young and old.  But inside me, I hang onto the silence I have created to hold back the pain.

When I wrote my last post about January 22, I thought that was all I needed to get through this year.  A little journaling and I should have been just fine.  I mean that's what they teach you in counseling.  Put it somewhere so you don't have to carry it with you.

I get an A for effort, right?  I have shared the experience in counseling and written about it.  But, the long-term effects are tearing me apart and maybe more today than ever before.

A person might think that something which happened 33 years ago shouldn't effect me the way it does.  Maybe in theory that would be the case had it been the first and only instead of the first of hundreds or thousands.

Outside of this one way conversation here in blogosphere, nobody really knows the pain I am in today.  I am not placing blame on anyone, except maybe myself. 

I have allowed myself to become a bit of a hermit the past couple weeks.  My socialization has dwindled to face to face contact with the bare minimum of people and for minimal amounts of time.  I am able to smile and make myself look as normal as possible. 

My husband is understandably preoccupied, making him less of risk to my finely tuned plan to keep everyone at bay. 

I have learned that even with my counselor, who I saw today, I am a master of avoidance.  She pushes when necessary, but sometimes in the wrong direction.  Again, I am not placing fault with anyone, especially her.  She would gladly let me verbally vomit all of my pain.  But I've gone that route and it didn't work...remember the pain is worse this year than in years past.

The biggest fault in my master plan of avoidance is that I have left myself completely alone.  That is a dangerous place to be when you are me.   That is when the clock begins to tick louder as the minutes of my life flutter away. 

It is when the silence that once surrounded my heart turns into chaos and I begin to search for the thing that will make me feel better the fastest.   Then comes the moment I knew would come.  The moment when I realize how desperate I am because of the solitude I willingly created for myself.

I have been here before.  Those times are when I realize everything I protected myself from is exactly what I need to survive the pain that is about to envelope me. 

Those are the times when I send a text message or call someone who I believe will understand exactly where I am, but the phone goes to voicemail or they don't pick up the text until the next day.

Maybe it is predictable for me to end up here...alone.  I certainly set myself up for it, so I guess I deserve to be here.  Reliving that day, 33 years ago, as if it were happening right in front of me.  Physical and emotional pain as real as the moment was then.  Overwhelmed by the destruction of my life that can be traced back to that day.  My heart broken over everything that was lost that day.  Living with the fear that there will never be any restoration of my stolen soul.   Not knowing if it will ever be possible to out live the pain.