Letting Go

       For me, letting go of people remains challenging. Just saying the words “letting go” aloud as I write them hurts. Like drawing the water from a very deep well, the words bring up a seemingly bottomless sense of sadness and sorrow. I hate letting go. I hate saying the words. I hate writing the words. I hate the whole fuckin’ concept.
       I wish I could say that I understand and accept that letting go is necessary, and part of life, and all that shit. But in this moment, I don’t. It’s totally unrealistic, very juvenile and naive, but I would rather not have to let go of anybody. No matter what they did. No matter what I did. I would rather be able to love my way through it. With them. I know life doesn’t work that way. But my heart wishes it did.
       When I was a kid, I would sometimes sleep with all of my stuffed animals. And I had a shit load of them. They would be stuck in every corner of the bed under the covers. I wouldn’t be able to move around at all, and because the little critters were made of synthetic fibers, it was like being in a sleeping bag in a place that was already at room temperature. Sleeping with almost 20 stuffed animals was hot and uncomfortable. But some nights, it’s what I chose. Because there was something so painful about not having all of them around me that I would put up with whatever I had to so I could be with all of them.
       That way of living is untenable and not healthy. I get that. But where my heart goes is to be able to wave a magic wand and make it right. My heart has difficulty dealing with the reality of letting go, of the reality that some people are not good for me. My heart wants to make them good for me, to make me good for them. That way I don’t have to let go. And neither do they. Crazy, but true.
       Letting go of people I love has created a collective sadness in me that is always there, even when I am full of joy. Like scars that don’t go away. I’m often not aware of them. Most of the time, my emotional body is effectively dealing with it; most of the time, the wounds feel healed; just like the physical body learns to adapt to and heal the physical scars. But then, there are times when, like looking at that raised pink ridge on my back when I had surgery, I remember how much it all hurt. And then I suddenly become aware of every other scar on my body; I suddenly become aware of every person I’ve let go of. And collectively, I feel them all like one giant loss. And I feel how much that can still hurt.
       Somebody asked me what my least favorite words were. That was easy. It’s “Good bye”.

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