Why People Don't Heal

I'd like to believe I'm not one of what author Caroline Myss calls the 'walking wounded,' but perhaps I am. I know I'm trying to heal, truly I am. I also know that it's almost impossible as I'm constantly thrust against my weapon of mass destruction -- my lost love. He lives three blocks from me in this tiny little town and we own this house/business together until I decide to sell it and move on. Just when I think I have a handle on things and can work with him, he goes into some kind of 'funk' and either isn't available at all, or if so, is in a bad or angry mood. I recently discovered what's probably part of the reason for this, and it's brought back to mind the Myss book and why some people refuse to heal, be it illness or psyche. Besides refusing to do the majority of the work a counselor might suggest, to get any kind of physical activity, the drinking/sleeping issues, he decided not to take his antidepressants either. So while I understand that it's his choice to remain one of the 'walking wounded,' I fail to see what purpose it serves. Is it so that he never has to take a chance and live the life he says he wants to live? Is it an excuse not to be close to anyone? So that he doesn't have to be responsible or committed to the decisions he makes, i.e. marriage, the B&B, etc? I suppose it could be any of these, or all combined.

But where does that leave me? I have this house -- this monstrous, beautiful, warm, peaceful, ancient, Victorian house. I know I bring my own gentle spirit to it, and I know I'm an excellent hostess. I know people come here and find rejuvenation and peace. But it is SO much for one person to handle, not to mention it doesn't make any money, and my freelance work doesn't supplement enough to hire extra help. If I give this up, I will truly be adrift, because I have no idea where I would go or what I would do; not to mention that I don't feel clear guidance about whether I even should give it up. With the terrible market, who knows how long it might actually take to sell it? I keep telling myself maybe I should list it, because I still wouldn't have to sell until I felt ready. It's what he wants, to let it go, take his half, and be done with it--and me. This is a terrible burden to carry, in addition to knowing I must give up the house itself. And yet, staying here among the broken dreams is just as terrible. What to do...


Mostly I am working to find a way to heal, without him, this house, or any worldly thing. I feel I must start taking baby steps toward freedom and somehow saving myself. Perhaps I will find another way or place to serve in this manner, if such is meant to be. I only know that he will never be happy until it -- and I -- are gone, and perhaps not even then. Perhaps he will always continue to walk with his wounds. It breaks my heart -- so many dreams, so many disappointments. I must let it all go, good and bad, and somehow wind my way to peace. Some days the task feels unbearably daunting. Like today...