I thought it will be cathartic to write and anchor in time my feelings, rages, surprises or laughters.
The group I just joined was like a door opened at the last minute "are you interested to listen to other's people self healing writings?". I was not healing, just venting and, as always, becoming pictorial in my writings.
I did not realize how deep and long the pain can be for some people around us. It was like a project started when you are 20s and still unfinished in your 50s. I felt ultimately ashamed and insignificant in my turmoil just hearing someone reading "this is round ten of the ripping apart feeling happening between us".
There were deep, deep scars. Those issues had histories, days, nights and long discussions between people. Daily scratches becoming wounds and changing the life of (mostly two) people. Couples trying to change each other or one of them promising they will change. The trajectory of their problem looked convoluted and the evolution of it was ending (mostly) in the same spot - people are rarely changing as a couple. Couples tired of each other but reaching the age were being alone was scarier than supporting the same conflicts together. Lies becoming episodes of denial, with many versions and many reasons of why they still did happen. Promises stretched on months, then years or years spent in correcting some wrong turns in life.
There were no concrete names of the events or descriptions, just vague echos of how people were feeling them. It was like after a fight, just bruises and no concrete memories.
Women proclaiming "I love myself, more" and trying to look in the mirror and to detect their dreams from a younger age. Women alone, who were just playing the words like in a still life painting, waiting the inevitable last call. I felt like in the dead's anti-chamber. Everyone wanted to become lighter and to get nods they were right, not understood and under-appreciated.
Most of the stories were about incompatibilities and supporting each other in different endeavors, or fixing some mistakes, or about lost moments which they were longing for. At that moment I wondered what is the version of the other half. Interestingly, some of the faces in the room looked different than their pictures on the web site. Deep wrinkles or hard lines around the eyes were not present in their photos - advertisement in falling down, still hoping for white knights? Or was the erosion making deeper marks than when the picture was taken?
What were they looking for in that group?
They were feeding each other, borrowing words and phrases and encouraging each other to continue in the same venue. Is healing coming from running in your mind on the same lane or from someone contradicting your view and making you pause? The whole atmosphere was about accepting, encouraging, listening and not questioning or inquiring.
There were moments when the words were just veils of the reality and did not know what to believe how emotionally brutal was the real life. How much of a cave is your soul to amplify life in such a powerful way? Was the whole meeting like a collective confession, to ease out the weeks of internal steaming?
People were choking when reading, sometimes they whispered; the audience was transported by imaginary conflicts and wows were thrown a few times.
I was silenced, in the presence of these people. My scratch was gone with a band-aid in a few days.
The group I just joined was like a door opened at the last minute "are you interested to listen to other's people self healing writings?". I was not healing, just venting and, as always, becoming pictorial in my writings.
I did not realize how deep and long the pain can be for some people around us. It was like a project started when you are 20s and still unfinished in your 50s. I felt ultimately ashamed and insignificant in my turmoil just hearing someone reading "this is round ten of the ripping apart feeling happening between us".
There were deep, deep scars. Those issues had histories, days, nights and long discussions between people. Daily scratches becoming wounds and changing the life of (mostly two) people. Couples trying to change each other or one of them promising they will change. The trajectory of their problem looked convoluted and the evolution of it was ending (mostly) in the same spot - people are rarely changing as a couple. Couples tired of each other but reaching the age were being alone was scarier than supporting the same conflicts together. Lies becoming episodes of denial, with many versions and many reasons of why they still did happen. Promises stretched on months, then years or years spent in correcting some wrong turns in life.
There were no concrete names of the events or descriptions, just vague echos of how people were feeling them. It was like after a fight, just bruises and no concrete memories.
Women proclaiming "I love myself, more" and trying to look in the mirror and to detect their dreams from a younger age. Women alone, who were just playing the words like in a still life painting, waiting the inevitable last call. I felt like in the dead's anti-chamber. Everyone wanted to become lighter and to get nods they were right, not understood and under-appreciated.
Most of the stories were about incompatibilities and supporting each other in different endeavors, or fixing some mistakes, or about lost moments which they were longing for. At that moment I wondered what is the version of the other half. Interestingly, some of the faces in the room looked different than their pictures on the web site. Deep wrinkles or hard lines around the eyes were not present in their photos - advertisement in falling down, still hoping for white knights? Or was the erosion making deeper marks than when the picture was taken?
What were they looking for in that group?
They were feeding each other, borrowing words and phrases and encouraging each other to continue in the same venue. Is healing coming from running in your mind on the same lane or from someone contradicting your view and making you pause? The whole atmosphere was about accepting, encouraging, listening and not questioning or inquiring.
There were moments when the words were just veils of the reality and did not know what to believe how emotionally brutal was the real life. How much of a cave is your soul to amplify life in such a powerful way? Was the whole meeting like a collective confession, to ease out the weeks of internal steaming?
People were choking when reading, sometimes they whispered; the audience was transported by imaginary conflicts and wows were thrown a few times.
I was silenced, in the presence of these people. My scratch was gone with a band-aid in a few days.
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