The Storage Room

Posted on | August 6, 2011 | No Comments

as written February 10, 2010

Talking to a friend, I told her about Adam and how I realized that he needed time to be a kid, and I needed time to be alone. And how that’s exactly what happened. And we couldn’t do that and be together at the same time. This is a step that needed to happen before another full blown relationship attempt, this was a crucial step in our own individual progression. I’m not sure about the timing of all of it, why we had what we had and then had it disappear (but still so close to my head on that shelf), and then all about:

my little girl. The inner child inside me; still making this adult body react in seemingly absurd and out of control ways. I feel like she’s running the show, and like she’s the one who’s now grieving Brent. She keeps throwing happy memories at me, chucking them at my consciousness as fast as her little hands can grab them from my subconsciousness. It’s like she’s in my huge storage room, rummaging through all the boxes labeled “Brent” and throwing them at my face and heart. So, so many happy memories are popping into my head, exploding against my skull as she throws with her little (but surprisingly strong) arms. I feel out of control of myself, but then I look within and see the healthier, having-grieved-adult-me standing watch: calm, peaceful, content – just watching her little self do what she needs to. Watching, but not interfering. I suppose it’s because the adult me is healthier than she’s ever been that I can actually feel things that have been stuffed down for decades. Because the ‘today me’ is healthy, means all the other unhealthy me’s can work through their shit because healthy me is the one staying sane, keeping our grip on reality.

BUT WHAT THE HELL! Do I have to grieve Brent at every single age I ever was!?!?!? No, I don’t think so. But this little girl still idolizes Brent a bit, he’s still everything she had dreamed, and she loves the part of him that was so child-like, so like her. His humility and guile-lessness. She shies away from the bad memories, from that kind of pain. Doesn’t want to feel it or go down THOSE aisles of the storage room. He still represents some of the dream this little girl believes in, and doesn’t want to let go. So her emotions are as up and down as any other child, and it’s a bit rough to keep up with. I want to let the adult me take over again, to find some semblance of rhythm and smooth sailing (god knows I’m tired of all the hoopla and storms), but I told her I would let her feel what she needed to. So, she is.

I feel guilt in admitting that I want to drug it out, considering meds and drinking to avoid it. As I immerse in this pain of hers (pain that she doesn’t know how to label or define, so therefore I don’t really know how either) and her feeling it now is just as difficult as it is for me to feel it with her – it’s interesting to me to realize that I am so uncomfortable in it. Not only am I contemplating numbing it out with meds, but I’m also putting myself on that catapult and launching myself into other forms of imagined pain that I can escape my current pain in. For instance, imagining (and feeling the pain like it was real) the pain of Adam picking and being with another woman. That pain reveals itself and I’d much rather go THERE to escape my current grief. Or Brent dying, and I throw myself THERE to escape my current, present tense little-girl-pain. Wow, I can’t even deal with a little child’s emotions? Oh, she doesn’t like being called little. I’m sorry, love. You’re a big girl. It goes to show that what a child feels is never in a thousand years, little. Emotions are always bigger than life, they just don’t know how to understand it. But whether it’s a child feeling emotions about a broken toy or an adult mourning the loss of the life of a child: they are the same big pain. We shouldn’t judge how we THINK someone should or should not feel pain and feelings. Ever.

God, please help me to let her feel, help me to separate her from me, and in that understanding allow her all the freedom she needs to find her own serenity, her own emotional honesty. She’s feeling it all, please be with her, because she just wants to be held. That’s it. Held and cuddled and loved. She misses Brent, and she doesn’t understand why he doesn’t love her anymore, why he doesn’t want to play. Help her grieve. And let me know what else I can do. I love you. I am trying. Please forgive me if I can’t handle it all sometimes…I ask these things humbly in the name of thy son, Jesus Christ, amen.

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Category: Brent, Have to FEEL it to HEAL it, My Gardener

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