I've tried many times over the last week to write this post. It's been very difficult because I don't want there to be any more negative feelings than there already have been. But I have to put this out there or I might just explode.
I'm not sorry about what happened. Let's say that first and foremost. Not sorry. No, not at all. Angry, hurt, frustrated, sorrowful. All of those things but not sorry. Oh, and tired. So very, very tired.
Last week I was part of an intervention for someone I care for dearly. It was one of the most difficult and frustrating experiences I've ever been involved with. Just the time and effort related to this endeavor were staggering. And the bottom line is it didn't work. Not in the least. Very little was heard or even understood through the haze of fury that covered their eyes like a fog. Then like the lancing of a wound, ugly disease filled feelings gushed out, infecting everyone in the process. It was infuriating to not be heard even when it was all truth, especially the hard to hear parts. Instead of progress, what's left was hard feelings and the need to use kid gloves. What's said was said and nothing was accomplished and that's the truth.
So now here we are a week later with not much to show for our efforts. I don't know that anything has changed. But maybe it won't get any worse. Maybe. It's been said that this felt like a dress rehearsal for mourning. If things don't change dramatically it could be. I pray it's not. But for now what I'm left with is sadness and frustration. And one tiny, tiny grain of hope.
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