"There are some things you can't understand yet. Your life will be a great and continuous unfolding. It's good you've worked hard to resolve childhood issues while in your twenties, but understand that what you resolve will need to be resolved again. And again. You will come to know things that can only be known with the wisdom of age an the grace of years. Most of those things will have to do with forgiveness."
Tiny Beautiful Things
Is it normal to want to mourn the things I did not get? To say kaddish, to bring life to the unspoken words and restore strength to the atrophied relationships? I can't help but wonder if the formal ritual of saying goodbye would serve a purpose. I fear that forcing closure goes against this notion of the continuous unfolding because it implies that life is clean, that decisions and memories exist in black and white, and that the future can remain (relatively) uncontaminated from the past.
We've spent close to nine months teasing out the distinctions and enigmatic correlations of my decisions; untangling the events one by one with delicate hands and words selected with surgical precision. An endless muddle of shame and body and sex and loneliness and too much and emotions and vulnerability.
My body was too much. It isolated me. My feelings were burdensome and could not be tolerated. I was physically and emotionally cumbersome. Vulnerability and need and were failures, synonymous with fat, gross, disgusting, huge, human.
Body + Emotions + (Body + Emotions) = Shame.
I discovered bulimia.
A great and continuous unfolding.