Seasons of recovery?

[Mary Ann]

The years the memories oozed back
Like raw sewage on cream carpet
Reluctantly I said the thing out loud,
In my head, tried it on for size, uneasily
Un comfy like a new-old  coat
Ever conscious of its shape
I catalogued how I'd been hurt
By who and when
Charted on the map of my body
And mind, the few places
I HADN'T  Suffered


The years the feelings swept in
A tsunami of trauma
A destructive waterfall
Of  despair and grief
The surge of fear that took my breath
My unaccountable urge to speak
To tell, throw my bitterness
In peoples faces, like sand
Till shame took over, squinched my face
Eyes tied, gaze lashed to the ground
The sickness of having said too much


This year I swept together
The broken pieces of my self
The shattered shards of my feelings
Acknowledged the things that are broken
And lost, beyond finding or repair
The birds are singing more now
It's a side effect...a result
Of the pills I hate to have to take
But so is the fact
I cant feel it, or anything else
I'm receiving the birdsong
As information only, it's spring, 
But it does nothing in my heart
———————-
Again, not sure if this is quite finished, it may need a little rejigging at some point. But I wanted to share,

[woodsgnome]

Thanks, Mary Ann.

This reflects many of my own feelings, where I notice the birds, yes; see the earth rebounding with new life, etc. I see all that and yet feel I can't quite take it in, after so much grief.

BUT -- it stays out there, or in my head. But my entire being is starved for even a little of that beauty -- just so I can feel, too. I seem close so often, and just as often, it fades back into the fears and hurts. Why is it so hard, again? It's a despair I can't shake, it seems. Will I try to? What else is left? The questions are often all that keeps me going; yet answers seem only like teasers.

Thanks again for the thoughts, hard as they are to express adequately, yet so powerful.

[Kizzie]

My unaccountable urge to speak
To tell, throw my bitterness
In peoples faces, like sand
Till shame took over, squinched my face
Eyes tied, gaze lashed to the ground
The sickness of having said too much

This stanza resonated because we were just talking about this in a thread started by JamesG. It was about how much we need to speak about what has happened to us, almost impossible not to because it's so big, but when we do we end up feeling that "sickness of having said too much." 

[littlebluejay]

I relate with all of this. The first stanza... I'm here, and I just feel like the sewage keeps spilling more and more. Thank you for sharing this with us.