Here is me in my body. Neck so stiff I cannot see, shoulders so full I cannot cry.
I filled my cells with salt last night and as I fell asleep, I wrapped tightly around my torso an all-maroon sweater.
When I do this, I believe my boots are filled with led no matter who tugs the line, whether they are strong because they are many or because they live in my heart.
But I woke from a deep, dreamless slumber this morning nonetheless, heavy as a rock, struggling to lift a density from my head, trying to work the knots from my shoulders with affirmations.
My life is one of abundance. I trust the process of life. I stand up for myself and life supports me in loving ways. I choose to allow all of my experiences to be loving and joyful.
The tension begins to work out of my body, upward, toward my head, but instead of releasing this energy, for me, these affirmations seem to move the pain into a bigger more dense mass, which collects at the highest point and clings there like it has fingers and it’s terrified of what lies beyond the door I have opened to gently sweep it out of me.
Jesus, this can’t be right. Something is wrong.
Last night, before I filled with salt preparing for eight hours of rejuvenating rest, I was writing in my diary. It’s been an emotional week. But even that has been more graceful, the letting of my grief and false hopes kneeling at the couch, leaning over the sink. Somehow I’ve managed to unlock the part of my heart that still believes wings can hold me.
As I was writing last night, I got a message that asked me to put no extra pressure on my relationship.
I don’t even know what that means.
And this morning, I have to wonder if that originated through law of attraction or God.
Because on my way to the office, I asked for signs from my divine guardian angels and what they showed me was long stretches of curbside grass littered with empty containers.
Containers that had once held everything from energy drinks to fast food cups to strawberry milk. I saw an empty beer can, red straws, glass bottles, paper coffee cups and plastic soda bottles.
All emptied. All discarded by the side of the road. And, oddly enough, all in tact.
Except for two containers. One large chocolate milk box had been absolutely flattened. One Red Bull can looked like it had been run over by a transport.
Should I pray, that’s not even a question, but how should I pray, what should I pray for?
And what do the signs mean? What is the trash spelling out? How can I make sense of any of it alone? What do you see when you see me?
In this state, lifting the burden from my shoulders and pushing weight into the air, struggling to kneel with my muscles strained to set it down, l feel alone whether I believe in guardian angels or not.
Because on this plane in this body, especially when I need peace the most, filled with heaviness that won’t listen to my prayers, I cannot feel the light.
The truth is, I’m stuck in frustration that after everything I’ve done, with everything I do each day, I still need to call a tow truck some days.
My CAA membership ran out and I don’t have money to renew it. Plus, what’s the point when the only tier I could ever afford got me three tows a year and I always needed more, so I was paying out of pocket long before the end of each year anyway.
I forgive you for introducing me to your friends, and I ask that you forgive me for introducing you to mine.
We all have a right to our feelings, no doubt. But I learned decades ago that when I’m tied to someone, the biggest feelings mostly leave me being dragged behind those I love, scraping my skin as the uneven cement rips through my jacket.
I never knew how to let go in these moments, being equally as terrified of what would happen if I wasn’t around to digest the most toxic emotions as I was of getting lost somewhere along the way and needing to find my way out of somewhere I didn’t lead myself, unsure of what was just off to the left.
In these moments, especially when the day starts off like that, my new favourite prayer is, Lord, I do believe but help me with my unbelief.
And show me what to do.
Because just yesterday I was laughing and doing some kind of dorky robot dance moves in the shower.
Help me find peace again, Lord. Help me trust that I deserve a lasting peace, at least one that’s not so shockingly jarred with moments of intense pain.
Part of me wants to trust again. Part of me wants to exit the ride before it’s over, because these slow hills before the devil hairpins at 80 mph have become too much. I think it always was, though I was afraid to admit it.