I write today broken hearted. Over the past few weeks I have tried to sit down and write.  Purge myself of the heartache, share it, own it, but have ended up wearing it like a shroud. I have pulled the sadness down over my eyes, hoping to blot out my heart that threatens to pull apart at the seams. So many of those that I love are broken in body or spirit or have left me altogether. I’ve written of onions and storms, chains and bridges but I can’t seem to find the words for this raw place deep in me. I have craved a cathartic moment to move me out of this position of writhing. An idea, something to focus on, to roll over in my mind and stroke to life with words. The need to forget my heart and the pain that builds daily has me trapped like a bird beating its wings against a cage. I’ve tried to lock it down, push it away.  I know rationally that because I love I also hurt, that the openness of truly caring can also bring deep despair. But I find pain leaves me  in a place that doesn’t obey rationality. – Locked Up

The act of grieving is a whole body endeavor. It affects everything you touch, every move you make. I had been searching for catharsis, a way to work through my pain. As always, creativity brought me to a place where I could idle and experience what was needed. C.S. Lewis said, No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear.

Grief is visceral, tangible.

With every shutter click, I unpacked a bit more of my grief and left it. My heart is by no means at rest but I am to a place where I can celebrate those around me instead of mourning the losses.

About Author

Anna Cox

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