That seems to be going well. Seems to have been the right decision.
So, now what?
I’ve started thinking.
Thinking is a big change from all the sitting around and hurting I’ve been doing. Progress.
I’ve been ruminating. Pondering. Wondering. Considering. Even weighing options and – get this – thinking about what to do next.
I’ve been tossing about ideas. I’ve gotten excited a few times. I’ve had conversations that didn’t revolve around what I’ve lost. I’ve even had a good day once or twice, mixed in among the days I lay in bed and ache. Ups have started appearing again, instead of the endless string of downs.
I’ve started stitching my heart back together, carefully this time. Scared, aching, unsure. Terrified. Emotional. Angry, sometimes. Sad. But slowly, slowly, slowly… moving again.
I’m not sure where I’m headed, but at least I’m starting to feel like I’m heading somewhere – and that it’s not an incredibly terribly horrible somewhere.
I’ve even started thinking about considering maybe possibly someday opening back up a little. Maybe. Possibly. Someday.
Then, Pace and I had a conversation in which she said spiritual things, and I stopped her. Flat held up my hand and said, “Okay, stop. Right now.” But it was too late, I’d already heard what I needed (but desperately didn’t want) to hear.
Now I’m walking around with a heavy shadow. An epiphany, this cloud of important vital Knowing haunting my steps. I can’t turn around, can’t move my head too fast, else I’ll fall into it. Then there’s no turning back. Some part of me already knows, but I’ll be damned before I let the rest of me know yet. I’m just not ready… which leaves me walking around like a hunted animal, being so very careful what I do or say or see or think so I won’t jump into this new place before I’m ready. Because I am so very not ready yet.
But I’m close.
And that’s progress, in my book. At least a little.