Bleak and Dark Inside

From my journal for October 2003

I’ve been writing and run out of things to say.  I’ve finished my tea.  I don’t want to move and I need to go on with my day.  There there Jenny, what you are doing is very hard.  Courage my dear.

Breakfast, wash dishes, water plants, dance to Shoror.  My heart aches so that it’s very hard to keep doing things, but now that I’ve stopped I’m feeling the fear again.  There’s no place to rest, no place safe to be.  It’s a beautiful day out there, autumn gold — intensified by mist earlier, and it doesn’t touch me, doesn’t lift my heart.  I feel so bleak and dark inside, and I so love the beauty of the world and grieve that I’m unable to celebrate it.

Dear Spirits, I’m pretty bummed out.  Please help me.

Dear Jenny, we think you should raise your meds back to 100.  This is being altogether too hard for you.  Medication is neither good nor bad, it is a way you can support yourself when other kinds of support aren’t available.  There is no support for you in the culture and too much pressure in the opposite direction, not to mention all the COA stuff: judging yourself without mercy, making things too black and white, etc.  Yes, if you lived in a therapeutic/spiritual community you might be able to get by on less medication, but that’s not a realistic option for you right now.  Yes, go ahead and call Dr. L.

Took Bella up Rte 3.  I carried my painfully tight grieving heart and paid attention to my feet on the path and the colored leaves.  Sat by Skoogumchuk Brook for a little bit.  Was able to take in a little of the beauty of yellow leaves against the sky.

My intention: I offer myself to the process of grief, to allow it to transform me in its way.  I wish I knew better what to do next.  I’m afraid that my ability to grieve is badly compromised by the nature of my losses.  I found myself crying on the trail with the pain of losing the “real life” that I had for such a short time.  And even when the loss was clear — loss of Shenanigan, of Dana & marriage, I wasn’t able to participate fully in my grieving because I kept falling into depression.  I do not know how to let myself grieve, sit with my grief, without falling into depression.  I keep trying to do it but I’m afraid my efforts are sabotaged by dysfunction so I’m unable to really surrender into the process of grief which then creates more toxic depression.  It would be much easier if I could spend one day wholeheartedly grieving and the next have some respite and joy, but it seems like I am either stumbling through the fog and dark and cold of depression with very little joy, or else I’m “doing well” and the grief doesn’t appear at all.

Shoror is one of the parts of the Oratorium.

My sense that if I could grieve adequately I wouldn’t be depressed was right on.  But I didn’t know enough about grief.  Francis Weller’s work helped a lot this past year.

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