Holding on

Things here have settled a little after our recent explosion, but aftermath is not pretty, and it sure as hell isn’t easy. I have made the discovery that one of my gifts is that, when it comes to coping, I am in no danger at this point of turning to alcohol, drugs, self-injurious behaviors of the direct and indirect varieties, etc. Instead, even when I am my most miserable, what I do is I keep doing. I just keep going. When it sucks, when I’m hurting, when I’m lost, confused, frustrated beyond imagination, rageful and bitter, I refuse to stop.

One of our mounting frustrations here is the absolute dearth of advertised Pagan- and poly-aware/friendly shrink people in the area. My beloved needs a shrink person, and scour the internet for countless hours though we have, we have found nothing. Perhaps it’s idealism or just sheer stubbornness, but regardless, I have a very difficult time believing that such a professional does not exist. If we were in rural Alabama, I might have an easier time believing it (no offense to anyone who lives there), but we’re not.

I put a working on my altar over a week ago sending out an S.O.S to what we lovingly call the “Universal HR Department” explicitly stating what we needed for my wife. As of yet, we’re still waiting. I know I only see a fraction of the puzzle pieces that are our lives and the Divine Grand Scheme of things, but I cannot believe that what we need will not be made available to us. But as of right now…



DISCLAIMER: If you are in a fragile space of any kind, I would strongly urge you NOT to read this post until you are stronger and more centered and grounded in your life. I wrote this post when I was moving through a very dark time, when hope was at an all-time low. Writing is one of the ways in which I exorcise all those things that I feel (but note that this is not Truth) I simply cannot move past. So if you find your self/Self in a similar space at the moment, give your self/Self the freedom to come back here when you are stronger and know that, if you are in need, I am sending Light, Compassion, and Unconditional Love to help see you through until you can visit again. Blessed be.

Sometimes the other shoe does not exist. Sometimes we spend so much time worrying about it falling that we even go so far as to not live our lives because we are drowning our Selves in anxiety. And we waste all that time and energy.

But sometimes it does exist. And it crashes to the ground in a deafening roar that forever changes…yes. Everything. And who’s to say why it exists for some people at some times and not others? I don’t have the answers to those questions.

Today, that shoe plummetted, exploding in to the center of my family’s life, and shattering. Something. Maybe a little bit or a lot of everything. I’ve never (thank the Goddess) been in an area where an explosion has gone off, but in my imagination, it’s something like this. There is this moment of quiet immediately after the explosion where the mind is battling with itself – the frontal lobe and the limbic system warring for control and trying to determine who is best for the crisis at hand – and everything seems to be in slow motion. And then, it is as if someone pushes the play button for the reel to return to regular time, yet regular time feels like fast forward after that seeming eternity of slow motion. Then, there is noise everywhere and it seems as though everything is moving all at once. Everything is harsh and bright and sharp and jagged.

Then comes preliminary dammage assessment. This is the time to scan for bodies, to see if limbs have been severed, if anyone is in the process of bleeding out, and to begin triage, all the while debris is still raining down threatening concussions and further injury. After this first round, there comes another to more closely investigate injuries, to examine the extent of the dammage in the surrounding area and to try to figure out how to establish some kind of safety. Initial steps are taken to attempt to construct that – whatever it may look like, even if it’s only temporary. Something to keep further damage from occuring.

It feels as though where we are right now is huddled in a ramshackle lean-to, wounds bandaged but seeping, poisonous gas having been inhaled and internal injuries abound. And worse is that members of my own family were responsible, in some way, for setting off the explosion. Even worse yet was that this wasn’t the first time that we caught them playing with metaphorical pyrotechnics and explained the potential life-altering, life-long, and seriously grave ramifications that could result. Somehow, somewhere, it seems as though something didn’t sink in. And so here we are.

I’m not writing to whine or to get pity. Hell, I’m not even writing to get prayers. I’m writing because, even though I’m not describing the details (and won’t) of what happened, I need to have the recounting of it somewhere, to have it recorded, to face it myself. I’m writing because I need to believe that we can heal from this, and I need to have almost a mile marker of where we started from when things at least appeared to be at their absolute worst so that when we do heal from this, I can look back and know. I’m writing because right now I am so fucking livid that I feel as though I am on fire. Writing is the element of Air, so maybe if I can bring enough of it in, it will blow some of the flames down to somewhere a bit more manageable. And I am terrified. I am terrified that of all the “one more things” that could have come down the pike, this might be the one that we simply cannot survive.

And so I sit here, in this jerry-rigged lean-to with debris still falling from the sky, and I pray because I can think of no other thing to do that might help this situation and the people who are in it with me. There is a heavy quietness in my chest and a deep longing and wishing for…healing, stability, and a healthy and whole family.