The death of a promise

I tried to swallow my tears and sorrow as I stared into the eyes of my beloved, desperately searching for something familiar. Months had past since I had seen him last under the worst of circumstances. He stood in the same place where I had threatened him, making clear to him that before the night was over one of us would be no more. Weeks of sleep deprivation, starvation and abuse laced with prescribed and unprescribed drugs had brought me to my breaking point. I could take no more. That very day I was admitted.

I prematurely left the mental institution during the observation phase. It had now become apparent that there was something awfully wrong with my beloved his mental well-being. The torment I had suffered was no longer waved by others now that they were on the receiving end. I was given 24 hours to gather my sons and our bare essentials from our family home. That very first night in the shelter as I watched my sons sleep, I fell to my knees pleading God, the Universe, the ancestors and all the angels to please help me gather myself and overcome my fears and heartache.

Everything I had suffered flashed before my eyes and resentment filled my body. Who was this man and what had he done to my beloved? Confusion and anger filled my soul, he smelled like my beloved and the energy I felt so near to him was definitely that of my beloved. I rested my eyes on his bald head, the long locks that I had lovingly twisted from just few inches of hair were shaved off completely. The tone of his voice was the same but the words were unfamiliar. He talked of demons tormenting him and the devil that ran his nails on his body. I swallowed again and resentment was replaced with pity.

I left with the understanding that life as I had known was no longer. He was my best friend, my confidant, my lover and my better half. The one that felt every pain I was suffering before I even spoke of it. A wave of grief took over, remembering the future I once was promised.

It is strange to mourn the living. It is a lonely process filled with guilt and conflicting feelings. There is no obituary announcing the death to the world, no friends or family gathering around to grieve with you, no burial as a conclusion to the life lost. Even though mourning might feel as betrayal it is the just thing to do. It allows us to free ourselves and our loved one of promises once made and release the promised future in order to create a new one.

Burying the past and grieving it does not mean that you bury the person or the relationship with this person. It is a crucial process to acceptance that what once was is no more. Only when we have laid the past and its dreams and promises to rest we can create our new future.

Peace, love and light,

Chantal

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Black ladies Talk is opgericht in 2015 door Anita Abaisa. Centraal staat leren van en met elkaar oftewel social learning. Het doel is het verbeteren van de positie van de zwarte vrouw in de maatschappij. De behoefte aan het platform is merkbaar door de dagelijkse groei. Eind 2019 zal de groep 35.000 leden tellen.

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