“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how
you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure,
whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out
of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this
storm’s all about.” - Haruki Murakami
Sometimes it feels as if it is over, as if it has finally ended and peace lies ahead. It's a terrible thing trying to follow one's heart, especially when it happens to be in a million fragments. Shards against shards, jagged edges cutting deeper. Sometimes it's as if each of these pieces begs for a future of its own, its own outcome.
I can say with certainty that three days ago those pieces were screaming with freedom, that they were united if only for a mere moment, and pointed in a direction so far away from my husband that I believed I was already there.
Throughout the course of the last few days, I am left only with a glimmer of hope, not more than a tiny warm flame flickering desperately on a wick that's always been too small. A sense of self-doubt, a sense of fear so crippling it leaves me breathless. A part of me knows that leaving this marriage is the only viable option to save what's left of my soul. I cannot stay. He keeps dragging me back; it eats at me day after day.
I whisper to myself, as I sit in my parents’ house, lonely, confused, lost, "am I free yet?" and an answer comes silent and clear.
"This storm has only just begun"
Sometimes it feels as if it is over, as if it has finally ended and peace lies ahead. It's a terrible thing trying to follow one's heart, especially when it happens to be in a million fragments. Shards against shards, jagged edges cutting deeper. Sometimes it's as if each of these pieces begs for a future of its own, its own outcome.
I can say with certainty that three days ago those pieces were screaming with freedom, that they were united if only for a mere moment, and pointed in a direction so far away from my husband that I believed I was already there.
Throughout the course of the last few days, I am left only with a glimmer of hope, not more than a tiny warm flame flickering desperately on a wick that's always been too small. A sense of self-doubt, a sense of fear so crippling it leaves me breathless. A part of me knows that leaving this marriage is the only viable option to save what's left of my soul. I cannot stay. He keeps dragging me back; it eats at me day after day.
I whisper to myself, as I sit in my parents’ house, lonely, confused, lost, "am I free yet?" and an answer comes silent and clear.
"This storm has only just begun"
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