severing the connection; or, the ties that blind

A year ago last Christmas I severed the connection, and I almost died from it. But in spite of this dramatic, self-inflicted wound, I survived, in the way that the wolf who chews off her own leg may hobble around for the rest of her life, but lives. And is whole, in spite of the missing body part, for she sacrificed something inessential to save that which matters most: Her soul.

This is good. I've finally, without meaning to, found a metaphor for that missing body part - my gallbladder - that I sacrificed on the altar of pain, suffering and inconsolable grief so long ago. I can no longer digest my food properly (as can I neither, likewise, digest my emotions very well, though I'm gradually changing that). But yet I am able to eat and survive, and, eventually, I hope, to thrive. My main job right now is to teach myself how to sort through what's good for me and what's not, and only eat the good stuff.

A work in progress.