There are many things I could blame this on; writer's block, lack of inspiration. But, that wasn't it. I had ventured to Iceland, been renovating a house; I had plenty to talk about. It wasn't until a few nights ago, when I was in bed that I allowed my mind to go where ever it wanted to go that I knew exactly why I hadn't written.
A few months ago I had a dream that involved my ex in a non-confrontational way. He and I were at the same lake. I was with my best friend, he was with his friends. A big wave hit and everyone had to leave the area. As my friend and I were standing by my car , my ex came up and began talking to us. There was no awkwardness, no anger, we were just talking as if nothing had happened. Somehow he ended up in my car and I drove him home. Our conversation in the dream was not very significant; he was telling me about his fiance and another girl, and asking me if I remembered a house he grew up in because that is where he lived. When we arrived at his house, he showed me around, then we sat down on a bench and talked more.
It's a simple dream, but I awoke with feelings of longing, hurt and sadness; things I had not felt in eons. I spoke only to my best friend about this asking her to not tell a soul. It was just a dream, and these torturous feelings would soon pass. But they didn't. For days my heart was constantly aching and my nights were restless as I relived a breakup and wished somehow things could have ended on better terms. Finally, one night at 1:00 a.m I got out of bed, turned on my computer, cried and wrote about the dream and all the emotions that came along with it. When I was done, I slept like a baby and woke up with no lingering feelings or one thought of the ex.
I thought about sharing what I had written, but instead I deleted it because I was ashamed. Ashamed of wanting to talk to him, ashamed of thinking of him and ashamed of allowing, even a perception of him into my new home, relationship and life. I had come so far, achieved so much, conquered what should have hardened my heart. How could I let people know that for a moment I regressed? How could I risk being perceived as some lost soul unable to let go? I couldn't. So I didn't.
Fear, that is what silenced me. No matter what I had to say, no matter what else was going on in my life or the world around me, until I fessed up that sometimes, without any good reason or explanation, old horrid emotions appear that rattle my core, I would remain mute. What I felt is what I felt. It is not right or wrong, it just is. Yet, I punished myself for feeling, for crying, for being human.
I AM only human. I hold no superpowers that will turn off the memories my heart holds and I have no way to tell when or what will trigger those memories. All I can do is face them as they occur. If someone thinks I shouldn't feel them, write about them or admit to them, so be it. My promise was to always be real when I wrote this blog. And this is real. Sometimes I don't understand it, sometimes I don't like, but it's me. And that's all I can be is me... No More, No Less.