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Broken

I came on here tonight to write a post about the process of grieving my mother's death, but the words did not want to form in a way that expressed what I was trying to say. Instead, I clicked on the "view blog" button and started reading through my post-divorce life.

Sometimes I impress myself.

Right now I feel like I've been to hell and back in the course of a single afternoon. I'm exhausted now, and not exhausted in the way I used to describe in my adventures in art and writing and spontaneous beach excursions that involved partial nude swimming under the light of a full moon.

Right now my thoughts are swimming in the slightly opiate effects of a great bottle of wine. I'm feeling the associated calm and letting my mind go through the memories of the lift I carved out for myself juxtaposed with the chains I feel as I mire through work and the desperate attempt to survive.

Surviving. Wishing for words. Wishing for a spark of hope in what seems like a desperate situation. Wishing for the light of the promise that nothing is impossible with the God who feels so far away from me.

I grabbed the dogs earlier today and drove to the back of the woods where I parked just seconds before the tears started to flow. I sobbed and cried out, painfully aware that my life feels shattered like the glass vase laying in shards on the floor of my living room.

I'm broken.

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