Quote:
Originally Posted by Amelia112
Not at all are you out of turn. I like you a lot and your input means a lot to me. And I can see what you're saying. I think you are right too, I don't want to grieve, I don't want to be sad and I don't want to feel afraid. Yet I still do and there is nothing I can do about it.
BUT, I also want to feel like the person I am. And giving in into all the sadness and fear is just not like me. I NEED to be strong and I have huge trouble with not being strong. I guess, this might be one of my original issues - I always thought I had to be strong, because in my moments of weakness I was taken advantage of, was hurt and abused. Or, when I allowed myself to be weak, I didn't get the compassion I wanted or needed so I decided that relying on my strength was my way to go.
Perhaps you have a point more than I'd like to admit.
Because I am getting weaker and there is nothing I can do about it. Perhaps that it why I am trying to stay in control of something here. But then again, is that wrong? What can I control still in this situation? Very soon I will have to depend on people to do almost everything for me and I HATE that thought so very much!
Thanks, that definitely makes me think.
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I just want to say - it is very possible to be strong, and still be afraid or sad or whatever. You ARE strong, Amelia! That will never change. You are living through this with a grace and strength that I find truly admirable. You are an inspiration. Experiencing fear and sadness does not take away from the light of strength and love that burns in you
In a different context, I understand the thing about not wanting to be seen as weak if I admitted to being afraid or not coping with my troubles (grief for my late mother, confusion at the death of an abuser, rage at my birth mother, terror at my physical health deteriorating into blindness, primarily). I had great difficulty accepting that it would be ok to acknowledge those fears and senses of loss. I was embarrassed by the idea of letting the world see (and I mean my closest friends, too) me in my pain. But in a beautiful stroke of fortune I have discovered that when I let others (some! a select few, not everyone!) see my pain, it allows our relationship to deepen, the pane of glass between us smashes and we have more real contact, and it allows me to feel cared for in a way I never was with them before.