In which our hero finds the source of her power in question
My claddagh ring broke yesterday. It's .925 sterling silver and I've had it since I was 19. A few of my friends bought it for me from Exile for my 19th birthday and it's always meant a great deal to me. I noticed a crack in it a few weeks ago, but thought it was a scratch in the silver. I love this ring, it's the first piece of jewelry that somone other than my parents bought for me, and I've worn it almost every day since October 12th 2003.
When I was single, my claddagh was a reminder to myself that I wouldn't always be alone, that someday I would find the person who fit into my heart and I would be able to turn the ring's heart towards my own. When I found that person (or rather, when she found me) the ring became a symbol of my commitment to her, particularly when I bought her one of her own.
It's now broken, and I feel like a bit of me broke with it. Because of how long I've had it, and the incredible meaning it has for me, the ring absorbed a good deal of my personal energy. Somone once told me that my ring was a talisman because of the high energy levels, and I firmly believe that. My hand feels incomplete without it. I can see the smooth, hairless band of skin around my right middle finger that marks where it lived. The skin is so smooth from wear that it's almost shiny. I can't type properly b/c my fingers are so used to the weight of the ring.
Not having my ring makes me incredibly sad. I'd like to get it repaired if at all possible, but there's a small part of me that doesn't want to, because I know when I get it back it won't be the same. That might be more sad then not having it.
It makes me wonder if my claddagh breaking is symbolic of how broken I feel. I've been feeling pretty broken for the past few weeks, and it strikes me that I noticed the crack right around when I started feeling crappy. Wednesday I reached a new low with thoughts of suicide, and 2 days later, the ring is cracked all the way . . . like me.
My psychiatrist put me on Prozac which I got filled yesterday, but I haven't taken any yet as I'm a bit scared to. *sigh*
When I was single, my claddagh was a reminder to myself that I wouldn't always be alone, that someday I would find the person who fit into my heart and I would be able to turn the ring's heart towards my own. When I found that person (or rather, when she found me) the ring became a symbol of my commitment to her, particularly when I bought her one of her own.
It's now broken, and I feel like a bit of me broke with it. Because of how long I've had it, and the incredible meaning it has for me, the ring absorbed a good deal of my personal energy. Somone once told me that my ring was a talisman because of the high energy levels, and I firmly believe that. My hand feels incomplete without it. I can see the smooth, hairless band of skin around my right middle finger that marks where it lived. The skin is so smooth from wear that it's almost shiny. I can't type properly b/c my fingers are so used to the weight of the ring.
Not having my ring makes me incredibly sad. I'd like to get it repaired if at all possible, but there's a small part of me that doesn't want to, because I know when I get it back it won't be the same. That might be more sad then not having it.
It makes me wonder if my claddagh breaking is symbolic of how broken I feel. I've been feeling pretty broken for the past few weeks, and it strikes me that I noticed the crack right around when I started feeling crappy. Wednesday I reached a new low with thoughts of suicide, and 2 days later, the ring is cracked all the way . . . like me.
My psychiatrist put me on Prozac which I got filled yesterday, but I haven't taken any yet as I'm a bit scared to. *sigh*