For months I have been making big efforts to lead a normal life a not let what has happened get me down. I have invested time and money in therapy and making plans, and being positive; grateful for what I have. And I am grateful. I am the mistress of my fate, the captain of my soul. Like the Invictus poem by William Ernest Henley that so inspires us all:
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Well not today. I am crying because of circumstance. I am not beyond this place of wrath and tears. My soul, if I have one, is bruised beyond recognition and shaking in the corner.
It seems that was there was only a paper veil with smiles and brightly coloured illusions of confidence, now shredded by the happy dagger words ‘Exciting News’. I feel the happy announcement as a body blow, leaving me sick and reeling.
Today my circumstance is the master of me. My distress is compounded by the shame of it, but I can’t help it. It comes from a darker place.
It is an expression of the supressed grief for a future denied. It is the anger at realising that I have not moved on as much as I hoped. It is the sadness that I exist in Negative; others’ joy becomes my pain. It is the fading light of hope in the darkness.
I’m sorry, but it hurts.