For the last 31 years, since the age of 15, Coppelia had kept a daily diary. Just a brief record, an outline of her life.
For four days that week her diary remained blank.
The effort of living was excruciating, she dreaded waking up, she existed through hour after wretched hour praying for release. Nothing from him. It was not just losing him, it was the callousness of his actions, the total and instant rejection. From hot to freezing in a second.
She could not find it in herself to care about anyone or anything. Her own hurt blocked out any other sensation.
The day after the meeting with H she was on the rota to lead intercession in church, and foolishly went ahead with this, breaking down in the midst of her words. When people later showed concern she fumbled with excuses about 'work pressure' and a friend being ill - somehow she didn't know how to say it, " I have a broken heart and cannot live with the death of my dream. Please help me!"
Okay at 16 maybe - but at 46?
Later she was ashamed at how she had not even wanted to live for the sake of her daughters.
She was like a mortally wounded creature, trapped in a suffocating sorrow. Coppelia could not have imagined a person could feel such hurt. Her whole body felt sore, her heart actually ached, and nothing - absolutely nothing - gave her pleasure, or release. She was afraid of how she could keep living like this.
She wrote a suicide note, then tore it up.
She wrote another one, and tucked it away.
She made a doctor's appointment and was given beta-blockers to calm her down but didn't take them. He had asked her if she had wanted to harm herself - she lied and said no. 'Then all you can do is wait, and find a way to get through it...' he stated, so matter-of-fact.
She couldn't 'get through it.' She would rather die, than face this. Everything life had dealt her seemed to land on her at once, this was the last straw - her spirit was crushed, too weary, too drained of always trying, always fighting.
'I have had enough. Now I know that life is capable of dealing me this much pain, I will not continue living, risking that this could happen again. I can never go through anything like this again - and the only way to prevent that is to stop living at all.'
Her mother wrote a letter to him, full of disgust at his behaviour and expressing great concern at Coppelia's condition. Soon after this, he contacted Coppelia to agree to meet as she had requested. To properly say goodbye.
For four days that week her diary remained blank.
The effort of living was excruciating, she dreaded waking up, she existed through hour after wretched hour praying for release. Nothing from him. It was not just losing him, it was the callousness of his actions, the total and instant rejection. From hot to freezing in a second.
She could not find it in herself to care about anyone or anything. Her own hurt blocked out any other sensation.
The day after the meeting with H she was on the rota to lead intercession in church, and foolishly went ahead with this, breaking down in the midst of her words. When people later showed concern she fumbled with excuses about 'work pressure' and a friend being ill - somehow she didn't know how to say it, " I have a broken heart and cannot live with the death of my dream. Please help me!"
Okay at 16 maybe - but at 46?
Later she was ashamed at how she had not even wanted to live for the sake of her daughters.
She was like a mortally wounded creature, trapped in a suffocating sorrow. Coppelia could not have imagined a person could feel such hurt. Her whole body felt sore, her heart actually ached, and nothing - absolutely nothing - gave her pleasure, or release. She was afraid of how she could keep living like this.
She wrote a suicide note, then tore it up.
She wrote another one, and tucked it away.
She made a doctor's appointment and was given beta-blockers to calm her down but didn't take them. He had asked her if she had wanted to harm herself - she lied and said no. 'Then all you can do is wait, and find a way to get through it...' he stated, so matter-of-fact.
She couldn't 'get through it.' She would rather die, than face this. Everything life had dealt her seemed to land on her at once, this was the last straw - her spirit was crushed, too weary, too drained of always trying, always fighting.
'I have had enough. Now I know that life is capable of dealing me this much pain, I will not continue living, risking that this could happen again. I can never go through anything like this again - and the only way to prevent that is to stop living at all.'
Her mother wrote a letter to him, full of disgust at his behaviour and expressing great concern at Coppelia's condition. Soon after this, he contacted Coppelia to agree to meet as she had requested. To properly say goodbye.
It is hard to comment on such intense, profound and excruciating pain. Reading through Coppelia's account is sharing in her pain. There are no words to smooth it over with. I remember a phrase by Anselm Grün, I think, which says that where your deepest wound is there is your most valuable pearl. I do have some vague and tentative thoughts, coming from my learnings and experience, but I hesitate to offer any insight or advice. It seems to me that reflecting and remembering is part of the road to healing.
ReplyDeleteYour insight is welcome.
ReplyDelete