this seabed floor

“I'll never know, and neither will you, of the life you don't choose. We'll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn't carry us. There's nothing to do but salute it from the shore.”
~Cheryl Strayed. Dear Sugar.

I asked him to let me walk myself and then to dive, into the depths.

Alone.

He wanted to go along. To hold my hand and to be a comfort. A safe space. But this I knew I must do all on my own. I must leave this state of co-dependency. I must.

These depths, they will be midnight blue. There would be no glimmer from the sun above. It will be very much like night. The darkest night on this seabed floor. There will be no glittered covered shells. No golden pink pearls.

This. This, is the dirty work. The sludge and the muck that now lies across my own encrusted shag carpeted ocean underbelly.

You see I've lost my shimmer. I stopped writing somewhere along the way. Started shoving it all into the extra pounds around my belly. Burying it seemed like a good enough idea.

Until. Until. I noticed that I've lost my soft. I have lost my kindness. I've become ragged and bitter. My words cutting into the knoll-y grass covered hills that I love. My words snap across rooms an my heart thumps like a caged bird against my rib-cage.

I must tend to this. I must.

I searched tonight for "grief from the past" on my trusted friend Google.

I came up empty handed.

All paths led me to the loss of cherished people and loves lost. But what I know is that this is not about those things. This time.

This is about the loss of who I am no longer. The loss of who I might have been. The loss of dreams and visions. The loss of how it might have looked.

There seems to be no guide for that.

So I'm writing my own. It's time. And the only way that I know to do that is to leave the shore. To go alone.

I cannot focus on what might still be when I surface. That fear. Right there. It has caused me to hold back for far too long.

When I come forth none of it may still be there. Or all of it might look exactly the same.

The only thing that may change is me. I'm hoping to find a chemical peel for my bitter soul.