I'd heard the word devastation before. I knew in general what in meant - some post-apocalyptic movie where corn rows take over street corners and there is no sign of life.
But I didn't truly understand until I saw the look of it on my own face in the mirror.
It took my breath away. As though I had any breath left to take. To see myself so bereft. To feel so alone. So completely incapable of life - in more ways than one.
I thought that I was a soldier. That I could take whatever was thrown my way and make it into something beautiful. I felt strong. Powerful. Sometimes....often...invincible.
Been there. Done that.
I'd seen what life could shove in my way and I knew how to skirt, dodge and circumvent with the best of them.
What I didn't see coming was love.
My safe haven turned out to be the place that crushed me completely. Catastrophically.
Fear took over my brain and all I could do was run or hide. Begging for help had long since past and all that was left was this.
Devastation.
I'm still angry about that. I'm angry that this one thing I sought for protection, connection and compassion was the thing that turned on me and bit the hardest.
Untrustworthy.
Somewhere inside me there is a wasteland. And nothing can grow there.
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