too much.

"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Right?

Hence, my silence.

Who wants to hear about my laundry list of physical ailments? Who wants to read about pain & suffering? Who wants to hear . . . blah, blah, blah.

And then I remember, If I am not REAL, who am I? If I am not HONEST, who am I? If I am not a TRUTH-teller, who am I?

So, here is my truth . . . it's all gotten to be TOO MUCH. I went off social media over a month ago. Too much noise, too much chatter, too bright, too loud, to scratchy, TOO MUCH.

I find myself on this "healing journey" . . . has a nice kind of romantic ring to it, doesn't it? Emotional healing. Physical healing. Body, mind & Spirit. Romantic.

Until, it all gets to be too fucking much. I used to subscribe to the idea that, "everything happens for a reason", and "physical ailments have emotional roots" . . . It sure makes the tough times a lot easier to swallow, when you have these beliefs.

But last week, I was sitting, having a conversation with my love & I said, "What if it's all fucking bullshit? What if there is no "reason" for my fibromyalgia or my gallstones or my sick liver? What if it just fucking happened & there is no deeper meaning? Because, if it WAS caused by traumas, & to 'heal the physical ailment, you have to heal what caused it'.....I have done NOTHING but work on healing these traumas . . . I have dug so fucking deep, my entire world as I know it has fallen completely fucking apart because NOTHING is what I thought it was . . . I have worked SO FUCKING HARD at healing these traumas . . . every single day, my sole focus is healing . . . and my body is falling apart. I feel like I'm dying. What if I do die? Does that mean I didn't work hard enough at healing? FUCK THAT."

I told you I didn't have anything nice to say, but this is where I'm at, LOST on this "journey". Even that word . . . JOURNEY, makes me want to fucking vomit.

It doesn't feel like a journey. It feels like death.

Oh yes, I've always been fond of the "caterpillar in the cocoon, turning into a butterfly" idea . . . another romantic notion to help us make it through hard times . . . which, also, at this point, brings an instant gag reflex to my whole body. 

To describe what it feels like, when I close my eyes . . . there is No "journey". No caterpillars & cocoons. No steps on a path, leading me to a better place. No healing light. No one guiding me. No amazing metamorphosis. . .

What it is, is this . . .

dark. pitch black. no evidence of light, anywhere. it doesn't exist here.

cold. bone-chilling cold. cold that can never be warmed & never goes away. 

aches. in the very core of my bones. feeling that my body has been beaten & smashed by a hammer, from the inside out. 

muscles that are so weak I can barely move, yet are so tight, they burn like I've been weight lifting for hours.

a head that is so heavy, it feels like it's made of lead & my body can barely hold it up.

sleep, that is so elusive & hard to find, even when I am so exhausted I can't move. muscles that won't relax, nerves that don't shut 'off' . . . waking up feeling like I was run over by a semi truck.

that's just for starters.

so, you see. I'm having a really difficult time finding the "reason". I'm having a hard time with the "caterpillar & the cocoon" deal. 

I don't write this to complain. I don't write this for pity. I write this for the reason I share anything personal . . . in the HOPES that it will help someone else. Personally, I find great comfort in knowing I'm not alone in my struggles.

Please share this if you feel it might help someone. Please let me know if it touched you, or helped you.

Because maybe, the whole idea of "sharing my pain to help other people" is just another romantic notion that needs to go.

I don't know.

Frankly, I don't know what the fuck I know anymore.

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