Member-only story
Medium Told Me I Need to Let Go
But what if the pain and grief are my muse?
There was a time in the not-so-distant past when I thought the pain of my parent’s choice of their religion over understanding me would be all I would ever feel and the grief of estrangement would swallow me whole anew each day. Shattered and treading waters of disbelief, I have survived two years in this reality. And now, the universe urges me to swim, but first I must let go of the anchor of pain and grief.
The pain that was once my only navigation in knowing I was emotionally still among the living, ebbs. The weight of relationship grief grounds the gaslighting that wants to wash away my religious trauma, enmeshment, and emotional caretaking. Suffering has become my muse in writing. A seemingly never-ending fountain of creative juice flows from my wounds. My past scripts decry the hurt.
You want me to bleed out again. Break and gasp for breath just so you may witness and enmesh yourself in my pain because only when you feel it for me will you understand. No, no more of me. My mental health will not survive you again. I want no expectations to find me. No hope to ever bloom. I want now only to package this pain in its pine coffin and mourn what will never be. There I will kneel and cry. In a box is the only way you will ever see my heart again. No, no more.
