The Four Levels of Healing.

2016 has been the year, hasn’t it?
I don’t think I have yet met someone who isn’t waiting for 2016 to be over.

And who blames them, I’m sitting here on my second bottle of wine, just thankful that the pregnancy test I took earlier was negative. (haha, it’s kind of funny now)

I’ve always seen myself as a ‘go with the flow’ kind of person, but really, i find it incredibly hard to be interested in anything or even find anything worth liking.. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me or maybe I just hold the things I do care about at such high sentimental value that nothing else compares?
I don’t know, it’s something I think about quite frequently, like, what if I am so utterly fucked up inside I no longer have the ability to feel, but then I think back to the two weekends ago where I was crying in the middle of the street telling some random guy who tried to look after me how toxic i am, and I think no, if I didn’t have the ability to feel I wouldn’t be wanting to punch myself in the face out of reckless self embarressment wishing I didn’t give in to those feels. But, alas, I did so I can’t deny that I have feelings but maybe I have, within my last year of struggling, grown to realise that most things in life won’t make you happy but instead distract you from the major issue at hand here. That the journey to happiness is to find our own appreciation and value of ones self love.

Have you asked me, maybe two months ago, how I thought my journey of self love was going, I would have told you, that self love is one of the best things one can accomplish and that I was truely enjoying the life I have created for myself.
But no, I don’t think thats what self love is.
As I have quickly come to learn within the last month is that  you haven’t truely experienced self love until you can love yourself and praise yourself even over all of the shitty doubts.
Unfortunately, that kind of situation is what made me realise I still had a long way to go on my journey, that and getting so trashed I have to relive the encounter of formally mentioned “toxic”.

In May, my real mother passed away. As horrid as it sounds I selfishly had a moment of relief when I first found out, but hindsight I honestly don’t think I had quite grasped the concept of death until then.
In 2012 I lost one of my best friends and that kind of pain is completly different.
I didn’t, and still don’t know how to accept the loss of my mother.
Yes, we did not have the greatest relationship – for drugs and alcohol were more important than my existernce ever was but we had begun to make peace – to form a relationship not as mother and daughter but as two humans going through life as their paths crossed, and it was working. No matter what she did, not once did my being cut her out, there was always the idea of her being at my wedding, the idea of her being there once her grandchild was born, that she would be sober enough to love the life picture I could have given or gave her the opportunity to experience had she waited a few years.
But what I think I find hardest isn’t that she took her life, as growing up watching her struggle I knew that one day maybe it would win, say I didnt get the chance to save her (i.e, how it happened) but to then start to begin wrapping your head around the idea that the picture you had of her at your wedding day, or your childs birth were no long attainable.
I have not yet found words to explain that feeling.

I visited my home for the second time since I was there to pack her things and bury her, this time was a longer stay than one weekend – I had time to think.
And as my step mother drove by her house and also talked to me about her it dawned on me that the only one single person who cared about my mothers death, was me.

And that is how we are here – myself struggling on how to handle that realisation – is it right for me to be angry about that fact? Should I ignore it in all the ways everyone else has? How do I stop feeling so guilty for have not doing more?

Although yes, 6 moths ago I could have stood there and told you how much I wasnt a shitty person etc here I am now, looking for answers in a book I took from my mum’s house. – The Four Levels of Healing.

I think there’s things the world doesn’t want you to understand so you go and question them, and maybe, thats why i’m here..
What I have learned is to believe in the universe, my mother died because her inner war had to end, I struggle with it, for the universe to yet reveal it, but it’s something, just like how my house, friends, work etc came int0 play without even trying.

But even knowing that – which i do, how do i – how do i accept the sign of defeat, admit i’m wrong with life  – accept my mother’s death.
And yet I broke this write with a stop to look at my mother’s photos only to realise for the first time the similiarities in our looks – what if i become her ? What if i don’t?

I don’t know if these feels are real or legit or what, I mean how is the real way to survive a death like I did, the blood on the walls, the vomit, the smell -things I will never forget – but how do I forget them?
No one else thinks about that part or remembers, but the thought on my mind – how long until i become her?

 

 

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