Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

Missing my Mom and hurting so bad inside…

Good Sunday evening everyone. I hope you had a wonderful weekend. We had a beautiful day at the Sanctuary today and we are so glad that everyone came out for potluck.

I am having serious social anxiety issues and they seem to be getting worse than better. I feel such deep sadness that I often feel absent from the container that carries me around. Stuttering has proven challenging, and I have never stuttered, until recently.

I met my Dad and Cheryll for breakfast and it was nice to see them. They gave me a box of some of my Moms things and I can’t even look right now. I am not sure what is happeneing to me, only that being physically separated from my Mom right now is horribly excruciating for me and I can’t seem to rise above it. This box, these things, her things…without her…I just cannot. Not today.

I feel the seasons changing and I am not ready for the invincible winter that devoured my Mother and left me without her, lurking around the corner, waiting to devour me again too. The chill and the empty and the hurt…the fucking Groundhog Day every fucking day with this…”Coral, your Mom is not coming back.”…Truly, every single day. As September makes its way into October, I am preparing space in my office and my studio to just be…to hurt this fucking hurt out until I can breathe again. Never has something hurt me so deeply or taken so much from me.

I was going to blog from the cemetery and the tears just won’t allow it. I lie on the bench in the sun, just soaking up the rays, trying to find enough warmth in my soul to bring me back to life. I feel hollow and empty and flighty and absent. I cannot seem to anchor, as I am constantly trying to escape the physical pain of my childhood.

How did I come so far, over the course of these years, to have absolutely no idea where in the fuck I am?

Sitting at the cemetery, it feels empty and full. Peaceful and sad. Quiet and dead. In front of my Moms headstone, it’s almost like if I don’t look down, she’s not really there. I look off into the distance, almost as though she will appear and sit next to me. I sit alone. I sit for a long time lately, long excruciating and empty time…missing her and talking to a space that she doesn’t even fucking occupy. I visit her where she is not because she is not where she used to be, not because she is there…more because there is specific space for her there for me to sit in front of her, not her.

Fuck the empty. Fuck this fucking pain! Fuck…just fucking fuck already. How do I stand over a slab of fucking stone with my Moms name etched into it, below her picture, and accept that she is gone? How do I keep living when the one who gave me life is no longer living? I have called my Mom a million times…a million fucking times and she always answered. My cries crash through time and space and fall upon deaf ears…my primal screams are no longer heard. My Mom is not coming back.

This pain, this inconsolable emptiness is devouring me. Sitting catatonic in front of her headstone, somehow, stops the painful pace of time, if only for a few moments, so that I can catch my breath and prepare for Groundhog Day again tomorrow. I wonder if there is any end to the pain in my heart? Will I ever wake in the morning okay again, without feeling like I am dying too?

My medical situation has opened up a whole chapter of my life best left closed. The damage is like a fucking minefield…like I just came back from a fucking war. Jaw dislocated and eyes glazed over…guarding myself in pain, off of pain medication, trying to heal a lifetime, generations of excruciating pain. I am so weary that I must go find sleep. I am so sad I must escape the empty.

Every day, multiple times, I fight myself to not cancel Tuesday’s appointment for those pelvic injections and I wonder to what end? How much worse can Tuesday hurt than the abuse that brought me to this place in the first place?

So, this is the place in which I dwell, reliving a lifetime of abuse and the emptiness of missing my Mom, as I try to muster enough courage and strength to go and get my healing. I could really use your love and prayers. I am not doing as well as I would have you all believe. I am doing the best I can and that just isn’t cutting it right now. I love you and I am so glad you are still here!

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