mourning morning

Morning used to be my favorite time of the day. It was a time when the world was peaceful and quiet and I could train alone and know that most were still deep in slumber in warm beds. It was a time when I could run and watch the sun begin to show it's beauty to the world and the sky would streak fushia and lavender with it's arrival. It was a time when I could clear my mind of the cobwebs and breathe fresh air and be grateful for all the love in my life.

Now, morning is the most painful part of the day. It's when I rouse from a few hours sleep and the Percocet has worn off and simply rolling over makes me moan in pain. The getting out of bed and waddling to the bathroom are dreadful. It's when I shake and writhe with the simplest of tasks and mom has to hold me for comfort. It's the time when I nearly faint each day from attempting daily tasks. It's when the reality of the entire situation hits me like a ton of bricks. It's when it's quiet that I think. And I'm unable to fathom the depth of the lies and deceit from someone I loved. It's when I want nothing more to run. It's when I try to stretch my legs because they ache and throb from inactivity. It's when I want my life back and I wish I could wake up from this horrible nightmare or simply never wake again.

But I don't have a choice. Unfortunately, this is my life and unfortunately, I continue to wake up every morning. And unfortunately, this tops al the other horrible things I've been through - divorce and jail time and kidney infections and gut-wrenching heartache.

A good friend of mine likes to remind me that "this too shall pass". This is a man with whom I share a strange relationship. We both have our issues and we both use one another for a sounding board. Our relationship is not, and never has been, a physically intimate one. I can count the number of times we've hugged on one hand. But this man has been the most positively influential man in my life, with the exception of my dad. No matter what my mind wants me to believe or what I'm going through or how I feel, he always believes in me. He always lets me know I'm worthy, that I'm smart and funny and attractive and talented and that I deserve to be treated with respect and love and kindness. He reminds me things when my memory lapses. His words are the ones that stick with me when hard times hit. He's the kind of person that lets you know there is a God...and that everything happens for a reason. He's a man I can laugh with and cry to and listen to and give advice and none of it has an ulterior motive. It's truly unadulterated love and understanding and compassion. These are the things I have to be grateful for when the hard times hit. I put a magnet on his cubicle one day that reads

Whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding exactly as it should.

And we both refer to this in times of trouble. Right now, I'm really hanging on to that.