Denial

I haven't written - anything - for two weeks now. I think I'm in the denial stage of grief. I simply don't want to deal with it anymore. i don't want to talk about it. I don't want to cry about it. I don't want to be mad about it. I just want it to go away. But the thing is, it doesn't. I find myself pushing away all the hurt, deeper and deeper inside so that I just don't have to process it or feel it or manage it for one more minute, in an effort to somehow feel normal again, even for an hour. I am subconsciously or perhaps even consciously avoiding the things that will help. Certain friends, long prayers, diligent scriptures, time alone, temple worship, writing, crying, talking, running, eating, all feel linked now to the sorrow and to the reality that the normal I once knew is never returning.

There are elements of my past life that I am finding myself grateful for losing. My priorities have shifted and realigned in a way that is much more in tune with my family, with God, and with my heart. But in the same breath I can't help but wonder if there couldn't have been an easier way - one that didn't hurt so much. Couldn't the lessons have come softer, sweeter and slower? They almost feel like a punishment of sorts - the bitter medicine of mortality.

I get so tired of pretending that everything is still fine. I'm not fine. I'm still wounded and weary and wondering why all of this was necessary. I'm still waiting for a day when I don't wish for the life that I really never had, but thought for so many years that I did. I keep wondering when I won't feel so lonely, so isolated from my husband who I have relied on in so many ways for so many years. I feel so aleinated from my parents who would be eternally crushed if they had any inkling of my pain. I am in such need of the love and support of my siblings and friends and yet they are completely oblivious to my circumstances.

The sorrow and suffering still linger. No matter how hard I try and push it away, it's still there. I have faith. I have a testimony. I know the Lord can heal me. I just wish it wasn't so hard. I wish it wouldn't take so long. I wish that the depth of the pain would somehow diminish or subside. I wish I knew what kind of a 'normal' to expect or even hope for. I really wish none of this would have ever happened, that I could make it all go away. I wish that I could remember what it feels like to be intensely, completely happy and in love. I miss that feeling desperately.

I miss the sense of sufficient self I have always been blessed with. And perhaps that is the ultimate lesson in this. There is no self without the Savior. There is no hope, no healing, no life, no lessons, no perspective, no restoration without Him. I am completely helpless without the hope of Atonement. I cannot imagine feeling like this forever. So I hang onto that silver thread of hope, with the faith that somehow it will lead me through this unimaginable sea of sorrow to a far greater land of promise.