Morning miss ugly
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Morning miss ugly
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The Ugly Truth
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Awake at 4am. Again. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep normal again.
I wake up thinking about him. Every single morning, I awake with this whole mess on my mind. I have to fight the pain all over again. I have to battle the thoughts in my mind, the fears and anxieties over an uncertain future. I have to rebuild the wall around my heart so it has time to heal. I have to remember that he’s not the person he was, not the person I married. He is a stranger to me.
And maybe he was all along. Maybe I just fooled myself into believing he actually loved me. That I was actually a person who could be loved so completely like that.
Because, apparently, it was all a lie.
Sometimes I still miss him. Not the person he is now. That person I don’t recognize. No, I miss the person he was. But that person is gone. He had time to “get over” me. He had time to fall out of love. But I didn’t. This was a shock to my system, like dumping a bucket of icy water on me while I slept. I’m still trying to recover from that.
As I lay here thinking about it, I have to remind myself to go easy on me. I can’t just stop loving someone; those feelings don’t just go away. It’s like having a limb amputated. It takes time to get used to the fact that a part of you is now missing and you’ll never get it back. Over time a person grows accustomed to having that piece of them missing, but it does take time. And I have to remind myself of that constantly.
So, as my heart aches and my stomach churns, I lay here, realizing I’m not going back to sleep. I lay here in the dark, snuggled under my blankets, surrounded by my pillows and trying to not miss his body next to mind. The sound of his breathing. The forehead kisses. The hugs that always made everything all better.
Then it all becomes too much, and I pray. I no longer ask my Heavenly Father to take away the pain, but to give me strength to overcome it. To give me strength to fight the battles that I know are coming. To wrap me in His arms and protect me, and to help me protect myself.
Then His Spirit whispers that I am enough. I am worthy and deserving of the love I thought I had. I am going to be okay and that there is great joy waiting for me on the other side of this trial. To hold His hand, that he is leading me through this trial, walking beside me, carrying me when needed, but always holding onto me. I seek forgiveness for my wrongs and am reminded that those things repented of have already been forgiven. The Lord has freed me to live. He reminds me to be patient and to lean on Him. I feel of His love. I have experienced His grace and mercy every single day of this particular trial. I know He loves me.
And, while I STILL do not understand what happened, or how this happened, I know I can go on. One day I’m going to wake up and realize he is no longer on my mind. I’ll wake up with joy in my heart instead of this never-ending aching torment. Eventually, the bleeding will stop, the wound will close, and I will be able to move past this.
I would love for all of my posts to be happy and upbeat. But that’s not the point of this blog of mine. This isn’t about him or what he’s done to me. This really is about the ugly truth of healing. It is messy and painful, and you feel like you’re dying even though you’re living. It’s about mixed-up emotions. It’s about missing someone who used to be, even though that person is the one causing such extreme agony.
It’s about going to bed every night grateful for getting through another day, but hoping against hope that I’ll awake the next morning and this will all be a nightmare.
It’s about waking up at 4am to your new reality once again, realizing that things will never be the same again.
Yes, I’m strong. I know I’ll get through this, and things will eventually get better. But the journey to that point is long and filled with hills and valleys, pitfalls and stumbling blocks. But it’s also filled with happiness and peace over time. Every day is different. Some days I feel like I can conquer the world. Other days I just want to give up, not go to work, not take care of myself, not get out of bed. Those days I have to pray extra hard, because the pull to give in is overwhelming.
I get up because I have to. I get up because people need to know that it can be done. I get up because my children and grandchildren are watching me.
Yes, sometimes I miss him, the person he was, or at least who he portrayed himself to be. And that’s ok. He took away a part of me, severed it off, and it will take time for that wound to heal.
Until then I will pray he can find peace in this life as I work to move forward into the unknown. I’m going to be okay; I know that. I just have to get through the muck and the mud along the way. I do not walk alone.
Can so relate to your post about missing him. My ex-husband was my high school sweetheart, the father of my 3 boys (oldest one, adopted)- we were together for 36 years. (including the dating years) How could I not still have feelings for the man? Of course I do- too many memories (including a lot of good ones) to block out- I sometimes still dream about him- good and bad. I miss his company, his hugs, his cooking and baking with me and my boys, our family trips, his home repair skills- and much more. But with him, there was always a frustrating, mysterious distance, a holding back, which really hurt my heart- and now I know a big part of the why, but will never get the answers I need or would like…a man of many secrets he is. Very charming but, sadly, also very cunning. I have had occasions when I’ve seen him (family events)- and I still feel love for him in my heart. (we still hug goodbye) I think I always will carry that love- the Savior has blessed me with that grace. I had prayed from the beginning that my heart would not be bitter and hardened (no easy task!!), esp. so I can continue to be an example to my sons and other family. But also because it is the Christian way. Do I still have hard days and days where I feel angry and cry about the whole mess?? Absolutely!! That’s when I continue to pray, talk it out with God and my Savior, remember my blessings and keep going. I still have an uncertain future, but I believe God will see me through, come what may. I will keep you in my prayers, Darla- my heart goes out to you.
I get it. I too have to pray that my heart doesn’t turn bitter. I don’t want to carry that anger and animosity with me. Some days are harder than others but I know, with God, all things are possible.
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Bulletin #31 - Jan 2011
Drunk and Ugly: The Rumor Mill
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Winston Churchill, Parliament Square, London © Sue Lowry & Magellan PR
This January 10th online article, “The Winners Code,” is remindful of Churchill’s remark, “I should think it was hardly possible to state the opposite of the truth with more precision.”
No member of his family ever saw Churchill the worse for drink, although after 40 years of writing about him I did find one military staffer who helped Churchill and Eden on a wobbly walk back to the British Embassy in Teheran, after a late-night of mutual toasts with the Russians. Churchill himself liked to exaggerate his alcoholic capacity, giving rise to nonsensical myths.
The notion of him stumbling home drunk and wet, which I notice carries no attribution, is the invention of a fevered mind. It is a bowdlerization of an encounter between Churchill and a fellow Member of Parliament, related to me by the late Ronald Golding, the bodyguard present on that occasion:
Bessie Braddock MP: “Winston, you are drunk, and what’s more you are disgustingly drunk.”
WSC: “Bessie, my dear, you are ugly, and what’s more, you are disgustingly ugly. But tomorrow I shall be sober and you will still be disgustingly ugly.”
This world famous encounter occurred late one night in 1946, as Churchill was leaving the House of Commons. Lady Soames, who said her father was always gallant to ladies, doubted the story, but Mr. Golding explained that WSC was not drunk, just tired and unsteady, which perhaps caused him to fire the full arsenal.
Only later did I learn that he was probably relying on his photographic memory for this riposte: In the 1934 movie It’s a Gift, W. C. Fields’s character, when told he is drunk, responds, “Yeah, and you’re crazy. But I’ll be sober tomorrow and you’ll be crazy the rest of your life.” So the Bessie Braddock encounter was really Churchill editing W. C. Fields.
Richard M. Langworth, Editor Finest Hour
By George Chingarnde Transformation – from what to what?
MMEGIONLINE.COM, 11 January 2011 – Winston Churchill was the British Prime Minister during World War II. By all accounts, he was a remarkable man. However, he was a heavy drinker and his demeanor under the influence of alcohol was not always honorable. A story is told of how one evening Churchill stumbled into his office hopelessly inebriated with his trousers wet, his shirt half tucked in and his hair disheveled. His secretary noticed his condition and moved quickly to avert embarrassment. She went to him and pulled him aside and gave him a sharp rebuke. “Mr Prime Minister, you are drunk. I cannot allow you to go in there and meet the guests. It will diminish your standing in their eyes, and shame us all. A man of your status ought not to behave like this. You must get your act together, Mr Prime Minister, and deal with your drink problem,” she chastised him.
The secretary was unprepared for what happened next. Churchill stumbled, and fell so hard that it attracted the attention of the other people in the room. She helped him back to his feet, and he stumbled towards the door, got hold of the door handle and looked back at her and with everyone hearing he delivered his retort. “You are right, my secretary. I am very drunk indeed. However, you must know this. I can go home and sleep, and tomorrow I will be sober. I can transform myself from a drunkard to a sober man. There is hope for me. As for you, my secretary, you are an ugly woman. Tonight you are ugly, and tomorrow you will still be very ugly and when you get old you will even be worse ugly. You see, there is hope for me and my alcoholism, but there is no hope for you and your ugliness,” Churchill stammered in a disproportionately high voice before falling again.
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