The Girl with the Locket

The smell of burning sage surrounds the room, I feel the tightening in my chest. I reach for the remote to turn off the news. There’s more deaths from the virus, the threats of safety are too deepl. We live in a state where we can no longer see each other, it’s safer to be home to diminish the spread. My worst fear has happened, I’m alone.

My mind is consumed with constant panic. Will life ever return to normal? Will we ever feel safe again? How did this happen? How did we get to this place? Will I ever find someone who loves all of me, not just the shiny pieces, the not so pretty parts? My thoughts continue to spiral and ruminate. I continue to ask myself, how did we end up in this place of destruction with all of our advances in modern medicine and technology. My heart doesn’t want to believe that Covid -19 is population control, but my brain does. I suppose I should also ask myself the same question, how did I end up here, how did I end up alone, why did I let it get this bad?

I clutch the gold heart shaped locket, and let myself drift into a fantasy world, free of corruption, free from illness, free from pain but most of all a place where I feel safe. This place is bright and light, a type of perfection that doesn’t exist in the present. In my safe place, I am loved, I am enough. I am all the things I want to be.

The gold locket is my last tie to him. As I hold it close to my heart, I let the familiar feeling enter my soul. I can feel him and I know I’m safe. I begin to cry as I feel his energy intertwine mine. Although he is no longer a physical being, I know he’s close. The soul never leaves us, even if our physical body is no longer in existence.

As I drift back into reality, I wipe my tears, feeling the comfort in the familiarity. He will always be my safe place. The way he loved me unconditionally, the way he understood me, the way he tolerated my emotional outbursts. More than anything, I wish I could have one last time with him. I wish I could curl up in his lap, and so he could hold me and tell me that all I need is love.

I turn the music on and begin to write poetry. Poetry has become a passion of mine, it has become a creative outlet for me. With the isolation from the pandemic, it helps to have a place to release my fears and anger. I set the heart shaped locket down, next to my rose quartz and black obsidian. Do the stones really provide healing properties, I think to myself. I allow the words to flow my thoughts to the paper. I unload my feelings of my recent break up and think of all the ways that I failed the relationship because I never made peace with my past.

I let the words freely dabble, from a place of pity, to a place of pain. As I work to release the anger I can’t help but wonder, did he ever care, or was that a lie too? As I continue to ruminate in my thoughts, I start to cry again. I don’t know who I am anymore. How did I become this girl? I used to be brave, carefree and never let anyone’s opinions stop me from living. But this is different, the self hatred is too real. I have fallen apart, in a big way. I fear that I don’t know how to bounce back from the destruction that surrounds my life. I ask myself again, why did I let it get this bad.

The isolation from the Pandemic has forced me to uncover old wounds and begin the healing process. I think back to that night often. A night that robbed me of my youth, a night that changed my life. It was that night that I realized I was no longer a child. I think back to the phone call, and remember how it changed me. I was no longer a carefree teenager, worrying about college or hanging out with friends. I was catapulted into a new life, a life that I didn’t want to be.

“It happened quickly, he felt nothing,” his dad says. The funeral was a blur, there were so many hugs, people trying to be comforting. I’m not mad at them, I remind myself. I can’t stand the stories, I know I should laugh, but I don’t want to either. I don’t blame his friends in any way, they were only trying to be nice and none of us had ever experienced death before.

I wanted to be the doting girlfriend, everyone wanted me to be. But I didn’t know how. I was never big on crowds and found most people to be exhausting. I was also angry. He promised me that he wasn’t going to drink anymore and then died in a drunk driving accident.

“The fantasies are keeping you safe,” my therapist says. “It’s a sign of unhealed trauma, can you tell me when this started happening?” As I begin to recall the start of the fantasy world, I start with the day of the funeral.

I walked to the back of the funeral parlor because I wanted a break, I told my therapist. I wanted time to process everything, plus I couldn’t fake smiling anymore. All I wanted was a cigarette. I touch the gold heart shaped locket and I feel myself start to drift into my safe place. A world that I created in my head. It’s free from big emotions, it’s safe. I am loved in my world. A bunny appears in the garden. I’m not happy, I say in my mind. Yes, I called you bunny, but this bunny doesn’t make up for this. I can feel his energy surrounding me. I know I’m safe, even though I’m upset. I see someone walking towards me, I let myself drift back to my reality and wipe my tears. I have a fear of people seeing me upset, even though it’s a valid human emotion.

I begin to tell my therapist my story, and my voice quivers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, we were supposed to go to college, get married, have children together. He was my person and I feel like my world has been robbed. The death of him and the miscarriage, it’s too much to bear. I know why I’m guarded and why I put walls up. I’m protecting myself from losing love. If I don’t allow love in, then no one can hurt me. But that’s no way to live.

I’m safe in my fantasy world. But how long can I keep doing this? How long can I play across the energy orbits? I know there are consequences to what I’m doing, but I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to live without you. I’m sad for myself. I’m sad that I become isolated in my own thoughts, self pity and pain.

I reach for the gold shaped locket, after therapy and ask myself, “What would letting go look like?” I begin to think of ways that I can move on. I can take up art classes, travel, learn French, and focus on design. But, I just want one last time. One last moment, with you.

The doctor and I discussed medication to help with the trauma and anxiety. I know once I start, that I won’t be able to retreat to our safe place. I know I will have to create my own safe place, among the living. I clutch the locket and say goodbye. I know it’s not our time to be together. I know I have to complete my journey on Earth, and that you have to continue your journey on the other side.

Life is meant for the living, although I admit, I have no idea how to do this. I put the locket away and imagine living without you close to me. The time spent in isolation was telling. I learned a lot about myself, what triggers me, and what my fears are. I know I have a long way to go, but for the first time, I feel ready to let go. Plus, I know where to find the locket, if I need it.