Digging Out

It occurred to me this afternoon that I have been squelching nearly all of my emotions, reactions, and thoughts for months.  I have had this nagging thought for some time now that I am "not feeling anything." Which, is absurd, because I have felt everything.  Right now, all I do is feel.  But it's not what you think. 

Every single thought, decision, and emotion is related to how I feel.... about my right leg.  Is it swollen? Am I in more pain or less than earlier in the day? What will happen if I continue to keep walking around the grocery store... will I be able to stand and cook dinner later or will I have to ask my fiance to get me a bowl of cereal? If I walk on the bumpy sidewalk, will I misstep, trip, and fall.... and break my leg again? Will it hurt very badly if I jump up and down in the excitement of being engaged? Will I be able to walk down the aisle without limping... in pretty shoes?  Should I really to go to Africa this summer; can I handle it? How will I ever have the stamina to go back to work.... to a job that is as unceasing as laundry and dishes? Will I ever be able to just get up and walk across the room without consciously thinking about every step? I am exhausted. All the time.  I am so tired of feeling, thinking, and reasoning. 

I just want to be. 

Everything in my life is in transition right now.  I am engaged to a wonderful, supportive, kind, and generous man, but I'm not married to him yet. I know that I am moving from the very best place I have ever called home, but not for  a few months. I went back to work too soon and so now, I am not working (again!).  I can feel my friends who are single pulling away, as I know I have done to others before me.... but it still feels like the end of an era... because it is. I have no church to call my home. I saw a plan for my life that seemed so certain in September and now... is moot.   Did I change it? Did God? Was this really His plan all along?

Today, apparently, was my divine appointment to begin the process of unearthing all that I've been squelching since early October.  I am terrified.

Often, I'll be in that lovely land between dreams and the reality of morning only to try and shake the memory of falling from the step-stool in my kitchen. I can see myself on the floor, leg splayed in the absolutely wrong direction. I can feel the cool ceramic tile on my face as I wait for the tears to catch up with my screams.  I can hear the absolute silence of my empty house in between my rants.  And I can taste the fear of supreme loneliness in that moment, even though my ever-present and loyal golden retriever, Lido, hovers over me, licking my face... because she knows I hurt and she can't do anything about it.  These pictures play on an endless reel on the insides of my eyelids; I'm terrified to close my eyes sometimes, because the movie is so scary.

I want to be thrilled about  being engaged, for my friend who is carrying a long-awaited baby,  having a new job, going to Africa, planning our wedding, getting married,  moving to a new town.  I haven't dug out from under all that yet.  There is a whole list of events, conversations and new memories...that I know I need to process but somehow,  I can't see the forest for this huge Sequoia tree in front of me. Everything is colored through the lens of my fall. Will there ever be a time when I can think about something that doesn't tie back in to this accident or is it the watershed moment of my life?

I am not fine... but I want to be.