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Emotional hurt. The deep inside pain I experienced because of rejection. Hurting so much I thought I might die before the pain would be gone. The ache encompassed a myriad of destructive forces propelling me into an abyss of despair. I became a victim of inertia, lost confidence, and shut myself off from life to hide from reality.

I found I couldn't escape the reality of the pain. I was unable to rally an inner strength and move on. I could only wallow in self pity and fear. Fear of never being free of the hurt, fear of future hurts, fear that immobilized me. For days I could only sit and cry, fear clutching me, the loss of my identity, the end of something in my life, something that I thought had been secure.

When tears flowed in public, I stopped going out. I was afraid to see anyone. If someone asked how I was doing, I couldn't keep from crying. I let the answering machine take calls. I withdrew so completely from life that I doubted I would ever get back into it, and I didn't care. I didn't want anymore pain, yet the withdrawal fanned the flames,
continual igniting the spark of self pity.

In my solitude I had nothing to do but feel sorry for myself, as a gamut of emotions poured over me, through me, and around me, until I was saturated and limp from the constant flow. I was drained.

Throughout most of my life, whenever I was down or going through problems, my solace was writing. Through words on paper I could pour out my thoughts and feelings,
read what I had written, and most often find a solution. My words were my touch with my inner self, with my deepest feelings. This time, when the hurt was there I couldn't write. I couldn't put words on paper, and the loss of that one consolation was devastating. Far worse than losing a job, a friend, or a lover, it was losing self.

The emotional death of self is real. There is mourning and grief, but no burial, no memorial service. When something inside dies, it is almost impossible to reach out to others for sympathy. How could I explain what was gone? Once or twice when I did, I heard the usual platitudes that I needed to pick myself up, and know that life would go on. Those well meaning comments brought me into more despair because at the time,I was sure life would not go on, at least not with any degree of happiness.

But, life did go on. Somehow the pain began to ease. The tears stopped flowing, A new beginning occurred one morning when I felt the sunshine pouring in the window. The warmth felt good. I'd been cold for too long. The telephone rang and I answered it, and talked without crying.

I called a friend and invited her to lunch. I dressed in one of my favorite outfits. At the restaurant I was able to eat and even smile. We skirted the issues of my pain and I was glad, but later I realized I needed to talk about them in order to release them.

That talking came with a relative stranger, someone I hardly knew, a person who was unaware of my pain. With her I was able to look at what I had gone through with
some degree of detachment. She didn't empathize with me, she hardly knew me, but she listened. She didn't offer advice or tell me how I was wronged, or that I didn't deserve what had happened to me. She just listened, knowing that I needed to talk.

Eventually I was able to write again. Words came slowly at first. I was hesitant to write about the things that had hurt me so deeply. Soon I wasn't afraid, and I could write about it, even while some of the hurt was still there. In time I felt a sense of renewal,and slowly began to realize that what I had experienced had altered my life's course. I had previously been living my life in the shadow of another, moving aimlessly, without direction. I had been in a relatively secure world, but one someone else had designed for me. I redesigned my life, slowly but with direction.

Now, the hurt is years behind me. My life is independent and comfortable. I no longer allow someone else to govern my world. It is not perfect, but it is mine and thankfully, it is with out hurting.