Broken Heart, Grief, Existential crisis, And Love

Broken Heart, Grief, Existential crisis, And Love.

I find solace and comfort in words — either reading or writing.

I have talked about Victor Frankl and his man’s search for meaning. For 20 years, anytime I felt I could not take one more step, I reread it.

Suffering often brings what we crave the most, knowledge. It exists to satisfy the curiosity we are born with.

Why?

Because
We don’t pay attention when there are no hurdles, no pain, no trauma, etc. In other words, we learn nothing when everything goes as expected.

You have to burn, beaten into shape, dipped in water, and go back into the fire to transform. We all get different settings based on our purpose in life.

I am having another existential crisis.
An extremely traumatic, emotionally complicated event triggered an intense period of grieving at the beginning of this year.
Over these past eight months, I have learned that grief is an uphill battle with a hill made of smooth metal.
Climbing over it is a struggle unlike any I have experienced before. Some days I feel like I have made progress. On other days I am sliding backward or in some other direction.
Grieving is not a linear process. It is complicated and simple at the same time; it reminds me of Schrodinger’s cat experiment.

The process of grieving the loss of a lover triggered my current existential crisis.
I have to redefine who I am to be able to keep moving forward.
I didn’t ask for this.
I didn’t ask for the pain and suffering that made me want to isolate myself.

The worst is not being physically alone but being alone emotionally and intellectually, even when standing in the middle of a crowd.

I have no regrets. If I look back at who I was 20 years ago and who I am now, I like this one better.

I have paid a hefty price, and I still am paying. But I do not have regrets.

At the beginning of this, I told my doctors that I couldn’t fight to survive anymore. I don’t recognize myself.
I am holding on because I love life. And I hope for a tomorrow where I am over the hill.

I can’t help but think how many are out there, like me or worse.

I have been accused, yelled at, and advised not to write about real things. Many tell me that I write to play the victim. To be rescued by someone.
“Why can’t you just write in a journal.”

Because I am not writing for the fortunate few who never had to live through what many of us have and still are, I pray to God that you never find out how this feels.

I am human. With a few trusted people, I bitch, and rant. We all know it’s nothing but saying it out loud to relieve a little bit of pressure s d grief, and sadness.

At times we do not need advice. We need to know that we are not the only ones who are lost.
A “me too” will be all it takes, however selfish and idiotic it sounds. We are pack animals. We do not survive or thrive in isolation. We need a sense of belonging somewhere.

Women, especially the abused ones, are broken. We cut people trying to come close to us, not intentionally. So, we need friends and family who would put on armor so that they can hug us.

It has been a rough day.
I let go of a beautiful opportunity to write.
I have let go and sacrificed so much. I thank God for giving me the strength to do it.

Do you guys want to know how it feels?
You get trapped inside.
Most of us don’t speak about it.
The shame we feel for feeling all this, for being “weak” because you have not chosen to bury your pain, is not tiny.

Even now, I am terrified to write openly about these ordinary things candidly. But here I am, writing about it all, forcing myself not to worry about what labels will be given to me.

I am forcing myself to not give a fuck when speaking about the ordinarily extraordinary things that make life worth living and not just existing. If my story helps one person, the humiliation I will face is worth it.

I have been struggling since the year began. I watch in terror that the bridge is coming way too fast. I watch part of myself slipping away.

I can’t even ask God why. Why me? Why so much?
But I know why.

I do not pretend anymore. If you see me laugh, I am joyful. I am happy.
If you see me quiet, in tears, I am sad.
Feelings and emotions come and go; I am learning to welcome them, all of them, embrace them, experience them, and let them go. It has given me a sense of freedom, something I have not experienced before.

I have had quite an exciting life and still do.
I have no complaints as I will not trade what I have learned, who I am now, because of everything that happened.

Life is beautiful.
It’s also messy.
There are ups and downs, like a rollercoaster.
Enjoy the part you can.
Scream during the stretch you feel scared.

I am scared. But I will not let fear stop me from living whatever time I have left in this life.
I will keep walking, keep hoping, and keep dreaming.

These words are not for everyone.
I will not take it personally and offensively if anyone thinks I want attention, pity, or something else. I have only talked about the tip of the iceberg.
These are for those who have no one and yet silently fight and live quietly among us.
The ones who hide in bathrooms and cry.
The ones who desperately need a little bit of kindness and togetherness.
The ones who get all the labels.
The ones willing to put their hearts out to the world even after it has been betrayed and broken.
The ones who love hard and be imperfect openly without many expectations.
The passionate ones who can wipe another’s tears while they hold theirs back.

I am writing this now because truth must have a place here.
Love must have a place here.
Let’s love truly and as close to selflessly as possible so that we can live and not exist.

Luv
Saj