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Magical World

Wouldn't it be lovely if, with just a twitch of the nose, life, or any aspect of it could be changed. Instead, positive changes always seem to involve tremendously hard work, determination, and endless setbacks. How lovely it would be to have the powers of Samantha Stephens.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Grieving 5

Grief Stage: I don't want to do this anymore

Strangulat inclusus dolor, atque exaestuat intus,
Cogitur et vires multiplicare suas.
~Ovid (Tristium)

Surely there's a better way. Last night I stayed up until 4:30 a.m. Fortunately for me, I had company until 2:00 (just a warning--if you call me late at night, I probably won't stop talking, and you may have to hang up on me, as my friend did last night). The next couple of hours I alternated between watching the weather channel and trying to decide if sleep was worth it. I have new nightmares--ones which, in my mind are worse than the first bout. I'm keeping Darrin up at night now, as I seem to be talking/yelling/moving constantly in my sleep. There have been a few nights of sleepwalking, and one night that I just got up and went running. So my solution this week has been to sleep as little as possible. I know--stupid.

Suppressed grief suffocates...

The dreams began about mid-March, shortly after my therapist had talked with me about grief and sent me into my latest research project. The problem is that as I tried to allow the feelings to manifest themselves, my feelings of vulnerability began to increase drastically. It felt as if in grieving I was exposing myself, feeling all the hurt and anger I've been suppressing for many years, and that there would be further occurrances of betrayal and hurt in my life. I began to feel insecure in all my relationships, especially those with men (for the first time, Darrin was included in this--until now, he has been exempt from every negative feeling I've had toward the opposite sex). As those feelings of vulnerability increased, the dreams became violent, terrifying, and uncontrollable. Any event in my life that placed me in an adversarial position with a man triggered horrible cycles of the dreams that night. rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength...

In addition to the nightmares, I find it difficult to cope with the depression and sadness I'm feeling. I can't understand why, after all these years, I'm still agonizing over a mere three months that happened so long ago. The next stage of grief, perhaps the final one, that I'm supposed to discover is that of acceptance. I find myself feeling angry that I am placed in a position where I must accept things that I find reprehensible. Last night I was particularly upset and very confused about having to accept my life as it now is. I had a small temper tantrum in a chat box, where I let loose some of the nastiness I'm feeling:

Samantha: I'm learning about the acceptance stage of grieving--the stage where you're supposed to accept that whatever loss/tragedy has occurred is real--and then, presumably, you go on with life having made peace with all that. What is it that I have to accept?
1. I accept that my cousin is a bastard and he used me.
2. I accept that I will live with that crap the rest of my life in some form, emotional or otherwise.
3. I accept that it permeates most every part of my life,.
4. I accept that I may never sleep again without being aggravated by stupid dreams.
5. I accept that this whole thing sucks and I get to have it with me forever.
6. I accept that I have a very bad attitude tonight.

Yeah, I'm not good at accepting anything gracefully and with good humor. And the absolute truth is that I've spent my life trying to become someone who is strong, motivated, loving and joyful--but as I walk through the stages of grief I realize that it's not really me. "Really me" is sad, helpless, yearning, and vulnerable--everything I despise--and facing that truth hurts because part of me feels that I'm this way because of my past. And then I realize I'm making excuses for what is real because I can't accept that I'm not the person I've tried so hard to become.

The final truth, the one I'm just beginning to accept, is that part of the reason I flinch from coming unto Christ is that I'm a little bit angry with him and his father. They saw me being abused. They knew I was hurting and alone. They allowed me to endure pain no child should know exists--and they didn't help me. As an adult I have all the explanations as to why that is, and I'm aware that I'm not the only one in the world who suffers, and that in comparison to many, my hurts were small. But the child inside me still can't understand why--why did no one come? why did no one care? why do I still feel abandoned and alone? How can I fix this????

Anyone who knows me well understands that what I've said in the paragraph above has no bearing on what I believe now. I love God and my Savior--I believe in their divinity and their love for us--I believe that it is only through Christ that I continue to live. But I also believe you can love someone with all your heart, might, mind, and strength...and still feel a little bit angry or betrayed by him...even if he's God.


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