Raked Grief, Trapped Pain

When I’m hit with grief, it feels like someone has a rake, plunging it into my chest, dragging it up, and then ripping it out of me.

It is probably one of the more painful emotions, and it quite frequently sends me into a state of panic, like I can’t live without the person. I know I can. There is a difference between how I feel and what I think, and they don’t really fit neatly together.

It just hurts, and it feels like there is a string attached to my heart that is connected to theirs. The hardest part is not being able to talk to her and knowing that, no matter how strongly I feel connected to her, mutuality will never be a part of what existed between us. I try not to let that make me feel gross. I try to tell myself it’s okay to love people even if it’s one-way, but it’s hard to believe that.

I crave that kind of deep feeling of being known… and wanting to know the person just as deeply… and I’m also terrified of going there. And I know that’s where the work lives. And when I’m feeling this pain, when I’m raw, it makes it so hard to feel forgiveness for the people who were supposed to show me what love felt like, what kindness and gentleness and trust were, what nurturing was, what compassion and being emotionally met were, what being seen and heard felt like, what safety was. That love didn’t mean enduring multiple kinds of pain. I get angry. Because if I would have had those things, and would have been protected from being hurt, life wouldn’t be this hard, and therapy wouldn’t bring me this much pain. And I wouldn’t feel disgusted with myself, like I’m bad, unworthy, unloveable. Like I’m mud stuck onto the underside of someone’s shoe.

Forgiveness feels hard when I’m inside of this. And I want so badly to be able to let go and just love them. Because the adult me knows they tried their best. But the hurt parts of me… they didn’t have anyone, and they were alone, and they are hurting. They are still hurting.