Sail this night

I've learned over the past year that salt baths are sometimes all you can manage in the depths. I cannot even tell you how many bags of Ancient Minerals Forest Calm Magnesium Bath Flakes I have purchased.

There's a song from years ago that came to me in the bath this past week. "Sail this night," the lyrics went. "Just let it take you."

Grief can feel like sailing a very unpredictable ocean. Sometimes I feel like a machine that has a lot of new (and old) data to process. A machine that is forced to idle until all of the data processing is complete. This loss called for an entire reset. Going to where I needed to be required incredible strength. After twenty years of giving my all to someone, I found myself alone at the most difficult time of my life, and I wasn't particularly surprised. I believe my parent's unprecedentedly bad divorce created this unconscious mantra within me that I would never give up on my own relationship, no matter what. That mindset is still with me, honestly, as stability means a great deal to me. My boat has to be the smoothest sailing; I would never repeat the chaos of my youth. My dad's death has kind of capsized everything, though, and in my heart I feel like that's a favor he did for me. 

I feel with not just loss, but with this disease, you are forced to intensely reflect on where you are. 95% of people with this illness have the choice to walk away from it. I believe in God and that there is always a higher force trying to steer you to where you belong. I've talked about this a lot on here - complete surrender at the point of no return. I only feel blessed to be given the opportunity to sail a tumultuous sea if it's leading me to where I'm truly supposed to be.