i know myself well. sometimes i must sit with a feeling and sink into it, let it settle into my soul, until i am ready to let go.
it’s that whole angle of repose thing. the steepest angle at which a sloping surface formed of a particular loose material is stable. feeling myself rolling in the detritus until i settle. until my thoughts are stable.
i have had this long ongoing conversation, written and posted, over and over again, with a dear friend. how to let go. fuck it, some days i just can’t. i just cannot let go. it ain’t that easy for me.
so here i am, taking life very slowly, walking with a trekking pole to keep my posture upright and sans limp so that when i fully recover from upcoming surgery, i will be new again. no, i’m not dwelling in self-pity. i’m not being self-centered. this all feels like grief. i remember the feeling from years ago when i gave up a part of my body to a surgeon’s knife. upon waking, i was silently weeping because part of me was gone and i wasn’t ever gonna be whole again. it’s a matter of trust. in others. in self. i am trusting that i will be stoic [damn it] and i will follow instructions so that life will be better. for me. for others.
while meeting with my pure soul surgeon, i learned some new things i can tuck into my heartpocket and pull out when i need. wear it like armor and it cannot be used against you. he had to turn my care over to a specialist, and upon doing so, he told new guy “don’t fuck this up….i’ve known her too long.” so now i sit in angle of repose. i walk coyote hill in angle of repose. i walk with my stick, bearing the stupid comments from others, knowing i am wearing my stick like armor so that it cannot be used against me.