If I had to distill down to the most simple language and simple reasoning for “why did I blow up my life 4+ years ago, divorce my husband, quit my company, sell my house and leave the country?” the answer would be: because I felt as though I’d become a prisoner to my own life. I was so completely emotionally spiritually mentally and physically run down that “dissociative” was the only channel I could operate on. Detached was the only emotion I could feel. Presence was foreign. “Being” was impossible. But somewhere in the depths of my deepest internal knowing I could feel; if I didn’t STOP….if I didn’t QUIT…. I’d lose myself entirely, forever.

Fast forward 3 1/2 years. That’s how long it took me to learn how to be present. To be with myself. To be a human “being.” And Good Lord it wasn’t easy. I’ve cried on every beach I’ve ever stepped foot on….and for those of you who’ve followed my journey, you know that’s a lot of tears. At the end of my journey what I learned was how to feel my feelings. How to live in my body. How to BREATHE. How to laugh. How to cry. How to love. How to grieve. Gosh did I learn how to grieve. Grief is actually love. Love is grief. they are one and the same. But that’s a story for another time.

What happened after I came back to myself….discovered myself….was I came back to America. The land that served as a backdrop to my 35 years of suffering. Of suffocation. Of sacrifice. Of dissociation. Of thinking instead of feeling and doing instead of being.

And somehow. I’m a prisoner again.

Different cage. Different oppressor. Different circumstances.

But here I am. And I’m fully aware of it. I know it’s happening. And for very complex reasons, I don’t feel I can stop it. I’m digging in my heels. Trying to slow down my approach toward the edge. Begging those who love me to listen.

I can’t.

I won’t.

I’ll die.

and yet. there’s a cloud of dust so thick surrounding me from the slow heel drag… I can see the edge. I can feel the abyss beckoning me. to return to the place where I feel nothing. where I am not being. I’m just doing. another fucking human doing.

Groundhog Day. in the worst possible way.