I've been going through my journal and I found a couple of essays I thought might be of interest to you.
There is this emptiness
I keep trying to fill it with all the wrong things
A dozen or more hobbies
A committee here, a volunteer project there. . .
As if somehow the feeling of being full would be enough to keep me from falling into the void.
Nothing worked. I don't really remember what it feels like to feel whole.
One day last May, I realized instead of trying to fill the void, I was trying to get out.
You had pushed me in when I wasn't looking.
These days it feels like I'm sitting in the darkness.
Sometimes I can feel the light on my shoulders and it feeds me -- fills me.
I keep waiting for you to give me a rope -- a lifeline.
But I don't think you'll ever do that.
I have to use the harsh words and neglect to fashion myself a shovel.
I'm digging my way up and out of here and leaving the pain you've caused behind.
I can feel the dirt begin to build underneath my nails as I claw away at the anger of resentment.
Beads of sweat appear on my brow as I step over the manipulation, the abuse.
At times, it seems insurmountable.
All I have the energy to do is cry. I know in my heart, it's worth the journey. It's possible to feel warmth again.
You may have put me here, but you don't have the power to bury me.