I haven't written anything in a while. Since my little meltdown I have found it harder to do the kind of thinking on this subject that is necessary to produce worthwhile (for me, no idea if they are worthwhile for anyone else) posts. This isn't the sort of thing that gets easier with time because one doesn't simply get over it. So long as I am separated from the people I belong with and the place I belong I am going to be out of sorts, badly out of sorts apparently. As time goes by it gets worse because it is still going on, one doesn't have a chance to recover from experiences until they are over.
People have said to me, trying to be helpful I am sure, "its only three years". I can't really expect anyone without the experience to understand. To someone who has always known their family, who has always had the opportunity to be with the people they belong with, three years or even longer might be an acceptable period to be separated from them when an entire lifetime is considered. What these people are actually saying to me, though I am sure they don't have any idea, is "its only 46 years". No one would try and tell me 46 years is a reasonable amount of time to wait, but that is really what they are telling me when they say "its only 3 years". Sure, it is "only" three more, plus the 43 we have already spent apart. If one was trying to argue with my point one could say that I didn't know about them for better than 42 of those 43 years. That is technically true, but I did know I had people out there somewhere and I also knew I didn't fit where I was. Not knowing peoples' names or faces does not take away the pain of missing a life with them once they are discovered.
It isn't "only" three years. It is three more years added to the whole of my life thus far. That is a large part of what is literally keeping me up at night. I'd say that is all I'm going to be able to write about this for now...
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