My very first memory is of my Mother walking away. I can still see her clearly, as from my Father's front window, walking determinedly down the path leading from the house. I wailed in anguish as my whole heart broke from missing her. This was not to be a permanent separation but still a potent omen of things to come. As first memories go this was catastrophic. It set in motion a truism that would follow me through most of my life; people you love leave you.
Of the millions of tiny footprints my mother left on my life her death is the deepest. It penetrates everything. The hole left behind is so vast, so immense that nothing can fill it. And emptiness is its own feeling. There were times I prayed to feel anything but that emptiness, this lead to cutting, to drugs, and to obsessive relationships.
My chest hurts merely thinking about this; there is a tightness that grips me, spreading down into my arms. That old familiar feeling; a cross between numbness and tingling and ache that screams at me to touch it. The problem is of course that a touch is not enough, it never is. A simple touch just won’t do, it doesn’t get past the numbness so touch progresses to pinch, pinch to scratch, and so on. I have trained my self to apply firm but gentle massage to my forearms at those times and eventually the feeling passes. I often wonder if I am a freak or if other former “cutters” still feel this way.
No comments:
Post a Comment