Rich in loss

“The art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss.”
― Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

In the past 50 years, I have had the people that I cared about the most say to me a few of the following:

Thank god it was ectopic. It would have been retarded with all the drugs you have been on.

You are such a freak, such an awkward freak.

You are not special to me anymore, I only want people in my life that are special to me.

You are fat, you know that right, you are fat.

I am sorry I ignored you when I saw you out. Sorry, I pretended not to see you.

You are manipulative.

You are a loser, a joke, I feel sorry for you, you are pathetic.

They all say you are crazy but you seem normal to me.

Try as I may, these sentences are burned in my brain, wired into my nervous system, and very difficult to let go of.

I want no revenge, and I expect no apologies. It is the raw hurt of a child that remains. That is the only way to explain it.

The raw hurt of a child or a kicked dog with no recourse, who wants things to be okay and better and feel the love of family or a pack.

My energy was low this week, but I made it to Friday.

Everything I loved or that gave my life meaning is gone.

Before, even though things had an awful tinge, there was still a goal I was working towards, and now that goal is gone and, in a manner, was stolen.

A stolen goal. Dashed hopes.

But I am still here. Still here and rich in loss.