An Old Journal Entry

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As my husband and I were finishing our packing, I found an old journal. It is full of scribbles and screams; it is the dark window into my once aching soul. I sat on my couch, and read through the old entries. How sad it was to encounter myself. As I read, I felt the stings of the old pain. The burn of the suffering.

I would like to share one with you, and then begin my comments afterward.

And once again, I am completely alone. Once again 
with no warning , I am fantasizing about death. 
Crying tears from no apparent source, and realizing
that there is no one. 

What a pity. A shame. I really thought for a moment
that things were getting better. That perhaps a
purpose had found me. That's the fucked up part of
hope, it usually lets you down. 

I love ... too much. To such great lengths that it
is impossible for anyone to love me to the same 
degree. I will never be loved the way I need to be...
and that is why the emptiness and loneliness always 
come back. 

So I'm here. Again. And I am not fighting it. 
Fighting is full of pain - struggle - endless 
promises - hope - and letdown. 

I ALWAYS END UP RIGHT BACK HERE.

And maybe I want to. In a fucked up way, I want to 
be sick. It's comfortable, in the sense that it
feels like coming home. A fucked up, painful, dark, 
lonely, shitty home. But it's the only place that
really accepts me... so I don't care. 

I wish I had the courage to die. All I accomplish
here is hurting myself more each year. 

Reason to die: NOTHING WILL EVER FUCKING CHANGE 

It's really just a cruel joke. My life. This is the
plan. Fate. I'm doomed on repeat. Try. Fail.
Try. Fail. TryFail.
Over and over and over. My life is a moment. A 
single moment suspended in time. No going forward,
no moving backward. Just, static.

The options I have are: 
1) Do this for more years and continue the painful 
cycle. 
2) End it. Grow balls, and end it. No one will
remember my name. :( I'm sorry I failed myself. 

I'm so sorry.

A half-a-year after writing that (among other journal entries that got much, much worse), I met my husband. And my life, my aching soul, changed. It’s hard to say if he was the thing that defined the change in me. Or rather, if he was the sole or biggest reason for the change.

A blogger, procrastination 108, wrote in a comment to me:

Finding that person must have felt like finding acceptance

How poignantly true. My husband was more than a man, more than a person. My husband was the acceptance and love I had been waiting for. He rewrote the:

I will never be loved the way I need to be...

And turned it into:

I am loved, and nurtured, in ways unimaginable.

What more could I have asked for? What more could I have needed? A little girl without a steady source of unconditional love, grows up without knowing it is possible to have. My husband picked me up and carried me. He found me in the darkest pit, and put me on steady ground. Yes, he brought me salvation.

But I suppose that I need to give myself some credit too. After all, it really comes down to having the courage to save yourself. Courage. Maybe that is not the right word. I look back on my life. No dreams. No hope. No reason to keep living. And yet, I did keep living. I kept moving. It was heavy. It was hard. It was blinding, crippling. But was it not ‘courage’ that kept me alive? I guess I don’t really have an answer. I don’t know why or how I saved myself. Perhaps, for me, I just needed someone to love me enough to allow me to begin rebuilding. When you are alone, as I was for a very long, there is no cushion. I had no air. Addictions, mental illness, eviction notices, sexual traumas … living among those things doesn’t give one much time nor energy to say, “Okay, now I am going to focus on saving myself.”

I sit here today with hope. No. I sit here today allowing myself to hope. I am not “better.” I am not “healed.” I still feel my friend, Mr. Fuckhead (aka “The Darkness”) over my head. I still get scared. But I am not afraid to hope anymore. Maybe that’s the secret. Maybe we aren’t meant to cure all of our ails …. maybe the “finish line” is just simply, hope. Because when we begin to believe that things can get better, even when they don’t, we begin believing that we are worth better things.

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9 thoughts on “An Old Journal Entry

  1. In the middle of nowhere,somewhere…
    Stood waiting for something promised, something dear…something that will take away the pain,
    Haunted by my own ghosts that I have hidden in my closest
    keeping me company when loneliness settles in my space.
    Addicted to a pill which sedate my soul with melanchony
    my journals becomes my only friend that keeps all my sad stories
    Leaving me burning…suffocated by my own thoughts.
    I am missing something…
    then again…hope has been restored,
    All the pain I have endured for so long have faded away like yesterday events
    A repressed memory left unremembered.
    I am grateful to a man who rescued me when I had no strength to carry on…
    And I am thankful to God for giving me an opportunity to love and be loved…

    the above poem was inspired by you. Hope you like it. I just love your blog and thanks for sharing your thoughts with us.

  2. Life is a long journey, full of obstacles and difficulties, moments of happy and joyful… Sometimes when you feel alone and misunderstood, you would never be born. This is what I read, between the lines…
    Then you know love, the true one, then you start sharing the trails and go along with your husband…
    Karma does not forgive: the law of cause and effect allows us to learn what it takes our minds to “mature.” We’ll have to come back, again and again, in our ephemeral bodies… suffering and rejoicing…
    This is what I have learned and now following the Buddhist path I have found happiness even in small things, knowing that the pain will forge me into a better being…
    Thanks for sharing these thoughts with us!
    Serenity :-)claudine

  3. This is something I have gone through myself, and it’s actually so liberating to find that someone else has felt the same way. I found my high school notebook- one where I wrote down poems when I was feeling very low, and I was cut to the bone (to put it lightly) by my own words. It was almost like I had forgotten just how bad everything had really been, until I re-read those words and could not believe I had ever let it get that bad. I have changed a lot since I wrote those poems, but I know that there are still sometimes I slip. It’s comforting to know other people can be scared by themselves too. Thank you so much for sharing this.

  4. Wow, this was so inspiring! I can relate to your old journal entry. I hope my story gets better, like your’s did!! 🙂 So happy for you!

  5. I get what you’re saying about what made you hold on and I feel the same way but I was thinking do you think it might be destiny (versus courage) like destiny can just be something that gets you from point A to Point. That was a bit of a run-on sentence wasn’t it. Anyway, those were just the thoughts that ran through my head.

  6. Some genuinely great information, Glad I discovered this. Good teaching is onefourth preparation and threefourths theater. by Gail. gdfkdgeedeba

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