Life isn’t a fairytale. Sometimes there isn’t a happy ending.
If my life were a fairytale, I have become the “witch”. Dark. Angry. Misunderstood. Really just in desperate need of comfort and compassion and companionship and love.
But I represent something no one wants to have around…death. No one wants to be reminded of their own mortality. They definitely don’t want to be reminded of the mortality of the ones they love. They balk at the idea of spending time with me, afraid that widowhood or whatever else is afflicting me may be contagious.
I sit alone in my castle, wishing they didn’t find me so repulsive. I cast my spells and I do my witch things and I seem to them to be dangerous. Instead of seeing me, they see the reflection of their deepest fears looking back at them. I may as well be invisible. When they hear my name they really hear “suicide”, “death”, “depression”, “grief”, “mortality”, and “loss”. No wonder they avoid me.
They don’t know that everything I do is to save myself. I don’t mean anyone any harm. I have no one to turn to. The people who once said they cared decided I was too strange and different now that I’ve been to the abyss.
I have a theory about why people get as far away from you as they can when you fall into the abyss and death touched you. I think that when you’ve been to the abyss, you may get out but some of it will remain in you. You and others like you are comfortable around it because you’re so intimate with it. Other people, though, are terrified of it.
They can’t help it. They don’t know what we know. Sure, there’s horror and agony there. I doubt anyone who has been there will dispute that. But they don’t know that there is also comfort in the darkness, a familiarity.
They don’t know about the transformation that happens there. They don’t know what it’s like to die while your heart is still beating. They don’t know what it’s like to die in order to live. They cannot understand the revelations that come or the experience gained.
That’s why they cannot understand us. We may as well have green skin and big noses and wear all black all the time (which I do wear black all the time). We are misunderstood and cast aside and isolated.
We are Truth bringers. We are empathetic. We speak from experience that they can’t comprehend. They don’t want to be reminded of their truth. It’s easier to push us away and blame us for their discomfort than for them to realize it’s the truth they can’t handle. It’s reality that frightens them. So, we are pariahs.
Let them keep their illusions and delusions if they need to. They haven’t suffered like we have and we should be glad for that. This is a club no one wants to be part of. Let them have their scapegoats. Let them fear what we carry with us.
We know that we are full of love and understanding and compassion and friendship and honesty and strength and bravery and worthiness. We will try to not let their opinions break us down. We will spend time with the people who are brave and strong and willing to overlook our green skin and big noses and love us anyway.
We need to take care of our fellow witches. We need to support and uplift and encourage each other. I hear so many of you saying how lonely you are since the death of your person. How so many of your friends and family have abandoned you. I am there, too. Only the grieving truly understand the grieving. Let’s make sure we don’t let each other down, too.