How shall I begin to capture the moments of my last six months ? I’m not sure how many times I’ve wanted to write about them, but I manage some words and have to start all over again at a different time. They say Nikolai Astrup, a painter from my birth place, left many pictures unfinished, and I see the same tendency myself. I have about 40 drafts on my blog and even when I publish something new, I’m haunted by the stories I wanted to share and write.
This weekend has been about traveling, both physically from one place to another and metaphorically from one memory and thought to another. I have loved sitting with my head against the bus-window with an audiobook on my ear, while I watch the Norwegian mountain in all their mighty colors. My mood has been very present the last week, and I owe that to several things: I am moving from one apartment to another, and changes always whirl up emotional dust. Another reason for ample emotional occurrences, is the endings and beginnings in relationships.
I’ve worked for over three years now and an right now in a phase where many of my clients have gotten better. Some therapies has come to an end, and like Andrew Solomon wrote about himself: Sometimes I am so afraid of loosing the present that I find it hard to move on. To follow people, either professionally or personally, a long time also means accepting that it must end. To say goodbye to individual stories, is emotional, even when you know it’s right.
I started my blog two years ago, when my ex left me. Still I feel knots inside when I remember what we had and what I could have done different. This week I saw him again for the first time in over 6 months. He was one of the main singers in a musical, with the title ‘c.r.a.z.y in love’. One of my best friends sat next to me, and put her hand upon mine as my tears streamed when he opened the show by sining ‘to really love a woman’. I hoped it would be un eventful, but I knew I had to go through it. I felt better after some songs, but found myself in a emotional turmoil the day after it ended. I was prepared for some reaction, and have let it come, practicing mindfulness and calm breathing. I have went through regret, memories and loneliness all over again, and the need to get answers has once more haunted my thoughts.
It’s started to get late. I am in my bad as I write and think about the last months. I can honestly say that I’m proud of myself: I’ve stood in difficult feelings and held my head up high. I’ve told myself I should be happy that I can love so deeply that
My cuts still hurt two years after the injury. I’d rather love with all off me than hide beneath the covers and feel nothing.