After the Shaking: Finding Myself in the Ruins

It’s another dark day in this mind of mine.

Just over one week ago, the ground shook.

“We know you’ve been trying so hard,” is what they said.

“It wasn’t enough” is what they meant.

My heart is broken. My spirit, heavy with doubt. The tears sit just behind my eyes.

I can’t believe I’m back here. I worked so hard to get out, and here I am again.

The questions are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing that floats through my mind as I lay my head to rest.

I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to feel it. When my mind wanders, that’s still where it goes.

It’s only been one week - when will time feel faster? When will it slow down?

When the ground stops shaking, you search for stability. When you didn’t see the rupture coming, you wonder when the aftershock will come. What else will fall? What else will break?

How much more can I take?

The hope came back last time. It took some time, but it did come back. I found myself again. I’ll get there again.

It’s all so tender; it’s still so raw. What was the last straw? When did they start keeping score?

For how long were the affirmations just lies shrouded in good intentions?

I can’t go back. They don’t want me back. Would I even want to? There were good days, there were really awful days, and there were the moments that sent me unravelling entirely. I learned, I changed, and it was never enough.

It’s another dark day in this mind of mine. I know this is part of the process, but I want to get to the other side so much faster. I want to be at the one-year mark, looking back at how far I’ve come.

It’s been seven days. It still doesn’t make sense. I have so many questions that will never be answered. The ground shook, and I’m still assessing the damage. Still replacing the bandages, letting the stitches pull the wound back together.

Help arrived so quickly. Support came in to dry the tears, help pick up the pieces, and lend me some hope that tomorrow will be better. Maybe only be 1% better, but better nonetheless.

Today, I’ll make it okay to cry. Today, I’ll find peace in a slower pace. Today, I’ll remind myself that what lies ahead is always better than what lies behind.

The ground shook, but I’m still here. I’m putting the pieces back together. I’m building the new.

I didn’t choose this, but I choose what comes next.