On this Easter Sunday, my thoughts have turned to love. I was thinking about how easy it is to say that word or even type on a post on our social media. Honestly, I’m so guilty of this. While reflecting on this, I realized I love very few people. I loved my sister very much, and when she died, I lost my ability to love, even more. I have never felt more isolated and cold-hearted than I do since this all started with my sister’s diagnosis of terminal cancer. I often say that I feel things too deeply. Is that true, though? You know that saying,” There is a fine line between love and hate.” I finally understand that. I’m often told, usually by my family, that I cry more when an animal dies than I do when it’s a human. That is the truth.

Love, to me, has always been associated with loss. That’s not a good feeling. I will push you away in a second if you start to get to close. In my mind, it’s for your protection, not my own.

When I was in my twenties, I fell hard for a guy younger than me. At that moment, when I first saw him, I loved him. We both had tons of baggage that we brought into the relationship. At the time, I drank a lot and was addicted to over the counter diet pills. Our primary connection was through block parties and endless nights of partying. This relationship was a long traumatic story that I will save for another time! My point in mentioning it now is this. After this relationship ended, I must say I pushed for it to end, not him. I went into a deeper place of hurt than I can even explain. When, and if I ever tell my complete story, you will see what a toll it took on my life, even to the point of trying to end it after that. Just to be clear, it wasn’t just over a guy but a life of trauma that came to a head at that time. I promised myself that I would never be in a position to be hurt that deeply ever again. The one promise that I’ve kept to this day.

I never talk about this; in fact, very few people know about this. My story is about hitting rock bottom during that time. A long and ugly time in my life that those who still know about it have chosen to sweep it under the rug, including me. Being the “strong” person who helps everyone else, yes that was me before, and now again. I’m not saying that is a bad thing, just a heavy burden to carry at times.

I am not who everyone thinks that I am. This is both a blessing and a curse. How many of us can say that as well? I read about so many people that are going through so much in their life. I see that they don’t know where to turn. If some of us are lucky enough, and it seems most are not, we have met someone meant to be in our Soul family. With that being said, even when I’m told to reach out to them for support, I’m afraid to. Hiding behind a mask every single day that’s shows I’m okay. If someone really wants to support me they should reach out to me, not just here and there, but every single day. I won’t do it, even though I want or need to. I need some kind of check-in daily, to get through. This spells out weakness in my mind. The one thing I can’t stand in myself.

Does this resonate with anyone else? Do you want more deep conversations? Do you need to hear stories like mine? My Heart says yes you do, for me, my ego is stuck In fear and shame for the same needs.

Someone asked me about promoting this blog. Even thinking about doing that sends me right down the rabbit hole of it is not what people want, or can relate to, panic soon follows. For now, I will keep hiding behind my mask.

More words from my favorite Poem.

”Please hear what I’m not saying ”

My surfaces may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask. My everlasting and ever concealing mask. Beneath dwells the real me, in confusion, in fear, in aloneness. But I hide this. I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear being exposed. That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind. A nonchalant, sophisticated, façade to help me pretend. To shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation.

~Ginger~ 💜