Shattered On Footloose Beach 

Recovery will shatter you. And will shatter you. Over and over again. 

I got shattered today

On the beach while Footloose was blasting. 

God can be cruel sometimes. 

It can appear as though he’s just laughing as you suffer. 

Things like that accentuate the pain. And the pain is often just unbearable. In times like that you just hang on to every second and watch as it slowly leads to the next. 

And you just hang on. 

Footloose beach. 

But then out of nowhere 

Kansas comes on 

And sorta saves you

Carry on my wayward son

There will be peace when you are done 

Lay your weary head to rest

And don’t you cry no more. 

4 Comments on “Shattered On Footloose Beach 

  1. Be strong Lovey. This too shall pass. I promise!
    Be well. Namaste
    L.

    Like

  2. These last few days have been a struggle for me. I I know I should be grateful for all the amazing things in my life (and there are plenty), but I can’t break through this sadness, this missing the friend I thought he was, and thinking about him happily living his life while I have been suffering on and off since March. I know he’s not content with his life – I sensed the unrest and frustration he tried to cover up during our late night talks by boasting about his achievements and how great his life is. It’s those people that boost extra hard that are the emptiest. But I also know he feels no regret, no grief, over what he did to me. Narcs never do. And that destroys me. And makes me so mad that he’s getting away with it and that I fell for it.

    Ghosting me and refusing me closure in the cruelest way possible when just the day before he was professing his love…it’s a head trip, for sure. And I’m tripping over and over and over, week after week, stumbling like my shoelaces are forever untied and the path to my inner peace is forever uneven.

    I don’t want his friendship back because I know what the reality of that entails. But the man I wish he was – the man he presented to me in the Idealized stage – plagues my mind, and the truth and the fantasy keep merging. And the fantasy, especially when I’m feeling down, has been winning lately.

    I wonder if it will always be like this. If in all my moments of silence and solitude, from now until the day I die, he will always haunt me in some capacity. If even when I’m out with the people who truly love and care about me, laughing at some silly joke or enjoying my favorite past time or drinking coffee in some chill cafe downtown and chatting and smiling, or when I’m busy at work, that fantasy friend…the friend who isn’t a narc and actually meant all the wonderful things he said to me, will always be with me.

    I don’t want my thoughts to wander to him anymore, but like Greg Dulli sings in that beautiful song Into The Floor: “I’m so far inside you now, I am your silhouette.” I feel like that’s him. That he’s infiltrated the most intimate, deepest parts of me and won’t let go, enjoying the torture from afar, even though I know in reality that he has no confirmation that I’m still even going through any of this heartache.

    I’m lost, Joe. I work full time, I see family and friends, I travel. I sing along to my favorite songs and run along the lake, appreciating the nature and my good fortunes. But a piece of me is damaged, and I don’t know how to fix it.

    In the case of narc abuse, time does not heal all wounds. It takes work to heal from this kind of betrayal. It’s not like a normal separation from a family member or friend or lover. There is a psychological fuck up that accompanies it…the cognitive dissonance, the reality that the person you thought they were..who you felt in many ways completed you, was nothing but a fake self. A gilded framed mirror, showing you everything you wanted to see and making you feel everything you wanted to feel about yourself, only to shatter into a million pieces and and bleed you out just when you thought you’d found your soulmate and someone you could rely upon and turn to in good times and in bad.

    I try to draw strength from the lows, but it’s hard to remain positive all the time. In some ways I know it’s good to embrace the negative feelings in order to work through them, but I also don’t want to ruminate so much about the past and what was done to me that I end up feeding the addiction.

    Where is that line drawn? Right now it’s written in chalk and vulnerable to the drops of my tears, smearing here and there and bleeding into my amygdala as well as my neo cortex.

    I take it day by day, trying not to overwhelm myself, but the threat of this being a permanent state of mind is a scary thing.

    I am not the woman I was last September. In many ways I’ve changed for the better, incorporating more self care into my daily life and revisiting childhood wounds I didn’t even know I had, making peace with my father for not being the person I needed him to be and having to cut him out of my life to save my sanity . But then another part of me wants desperately to erase my narc ex friend from my memory and go back to that naive, ignorant state I was living in before meeting him, where my dad was just a toxic man I had known long ago and I had more great days than bad and thought life was perfect on my own.

    I apologize for hijacking the comments and making this all about me. But the ups and downs you’re experiencing … although not rooted in identical situations as mine …. resonate with me. I resonate with your feelings and relate to the source of your pain and understand the narc abuse and how damaging it is. And I guess, through your blog, I’m just reaching out for that even pavement. Shoes without laces. The line drawn by sharpie, not chalk. A tunnel of light instead of a broken mirror.

    Thank you, Joe. It’s good to know I’m not alone in this.

    Like

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