Oh Copa, I’m so sorry for your aching heart.
I had to look up the definition for fragmented. Oh no.
What was your psychologists purpose in sharing this observation with you?
You did not cause this, nor could you control it. Hold on to those 20 years. It is what we have, precious memories. Could you, or I have stopped the train wreck of horrible choices our adult kids made? Maybe if we locked them in a room?
If only our love and self sacrifice could save them. It can’t. It won’t. That synchronistic fall into our own despair. Copa, as you wrote to me, not one thing has changed. Whether your son’s actions are caused by marijuana psychosis, bipolar, or fragmentation, whatever the diagnosis, nothing has changed.
For me, dear friend, it is both. I have begun to understand that all of these years of witnessing my two beloved wayward daughter’s demise, if I don’t allow myself to feel the sadness of it I am in silent self destruct mode. I still have a hard time crying. That is not me. I am extremely sensitive. The tough exterior I put on will end up hurrying my demise. Then there is the fear that if I do allow myself to feel, I may not bounce back again. There must be some middle ground. A room where I can go scream, cry, lament, release, then come out of it and function. Not just exist, live.
We are human. One can only take so much.
I wish I could take away the pain of it.
Holding you in my heart.
Leaf
