Nothing and then everything
Nightmares are interesting things. Often mine are based around things I am actively trying not to think about – like selling my house. And things I caught on TV – like a helicopter made of wood and a chair. These odd things get paired up in a sheet-twisting nightmare that wakes me at 4am and doesn’t allow my brain to get back into sleep mode.
The actual dream becomes faded and unimportant the but thoughts I’ve been trying to quell then have a chance to float right above my closed eyes in the soft grey front of my brain. Did I do that math correctly? Will the offer really only lose me a few thousand dollars. Is it really worth it? What else can I do? I’m stuck in a new city trying to leave the old city behind – I need to get rid of it and him and all of the rest.
Course – I am still partly in this old city – playing a show here or there, seeing friends from before. But I am new and the friends are treating me newly. This is a good thing, I am a different person, or maybe more like the person I should have been all along.
Now I only take care of me and sometimes even get taken care of. Getting taken care of feels very good. Friends making you go out dancing feels really good. Being able to say – yes I’ll be there Friday for your show – and not have to worry that at the last minute, someone will have a breakdown and you’ll end up crying yourself to sleep instead worried about yourself and the person and how disappointed you are that those fun things are not really fun but a hollow and forced attempt at fun. But there is no guilt anymore – I can say I will be there and unless I don’t want to go, I will go and have fun and not have to worry that I will come home to disaster. It is such a strange feeling. Complete independence. Hard to get used to actually.
I invited some friends for dinner tonight – I am cooking steak (which I have not done in eons as I rarely eat meat) and I am looking forward to it, none of the worries of mood or angst. And I had coop this past Sunday. The first one I’ve had in months and months. It was GREAT. Everyone was here and there was much chatting and laughter and eating. I love cooking for people.
Why the nightmares then, well I guess you can never leave your old life completely behind.
The music doesn’t help – performing reminds me of my time with the other band. But it’s weird. This band is so different and I am different in it. I am confident, I am up front. I take my clothes off for fuck’s sake. AND the most AMAZIONG thing… I sing. And I can hardly believe it, but enough people have told me honestly and sincerely… but I sing well. Even when I was told over and over again for years that I did not sing well and my confidence in singing was so low that I could barely open my mouth to sing by myself in the car. Now I sing all of the time and it feels SO releasing. Everyone should try it.
After my last performance (where I have to admit, I hit a few clunkers) a wonderful singer and famous music teacher came up to me and told me what a sweet and clear voice I had and asked me where I had gone to school for voice. Even after I told her my only school was church choir and singing in the car growing up, she insisted I must have studied with this certain teacher in New York that she knew. “Oh no, you do his style, it’s quite clear” she gave me her email and his number and told me to contact them both. “We set things up all of the time, you’d be a good fit – please do contact us”
I try to quiet the doubts, the nightmares the “can I really do this” thoughts I have every waking moment. Everyone has them, I am no different, but I feel like I’ve gone through a war. Can you believe it’s been since March. Is the reality that it had been since much much before that? The two of hearts says yes, more journals then I care to read say yes, but for me, March was when I became nothing and then everything.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
A Perfect Saturday
1. Get up early – perhaps not quite as early as I did nor with as little sleep as I had, but certainly before you could go to the grocery store or run this errand or that. I’d say 6am at the latest.
2. Read – something light and fun but with enough biting with to keep it interesting. How about something like Jasper Fforde’s “The Fourth Bear”
3. Make a grocery list with all of the possibilities for lunches and dinners for the next week. It exciting to dream ahead to a grilled chicken salad adorned with tomatoes you’ve grown yourself (or picked up at the farmers market) grilled on your new back deck with its sweet little baby grill.
4. Have a lovely time at the market. If everything is not new to you, pretend it is. I walked down each isle marveling at all of the new stuff I could buy.
5. Arrange your new purchases in your cupboards. This is not yet habit for me. I am still deciding where things go and how to put things.
6. Have tea and toast with blackberry jam or, if you are feeling decadent – and I always am- with nutella. Nothing is better then sitting in your new little sitting room in your new comfy chair and reading that last chapter of the book you’ve loved from page one.
7. OK< Now you’ve pampered yourself and you’ve done your shopping. It’s still quite early. Ten am even. I went to run another errand. Pick up a few things for the new place at a local store. A brushed metal coat rack for the hall, a new set of sheets, perhaps a knickknack or two. Take them home and arrange them. I cleaned a bit as well and “finished” unpacking (are you ever really finished?).
8. Now it is noon. Time for a quick nip of a shower and a bite of lunch (Left over pizza from the night before) and off to a Belly Dancing class.
9. I highly recommend belly dancing, esp. with a friend. This was an introductory course. Having a friend along will allow you to laugh at yourself rather then take yourself so seriously. The instructor was marvelous. And marvelously six months pregnant. If belly dancing gives you that body, I am in, even pregnant she was tight and lean and sensual. I learned a few things in the 3 hours of class. It certainly made me want to take more. I am no dancer for certain, but feeling your body move to music centers you and belly dancing makes you pay attention.
10. After that class, hang out with that friend. Do some errands with her. Chat.
11. Dinnertime, already? But of course. Pick up a few small bites at the local organic grocery store. Don’t bother making dinner; you’ve had a full day.
12. Share dinner with another friend, one that doesn’t care if you are sweaty from dance class. One that will arrange the supper, pour you a big glass of wine and serve your dinner to you on the couch. This friend will also clean up after dinner while.
13. His cleaning up will allow you to take a long hot bath with a new book and a glass of wine. I chose to read Frances Mayes “A Year in the World”. What a better way to get to know a travel book then a hot soak. She describes a year of adventure she had while traveling to places she had always wanted to go. It’s your basic travel book. Describing places and food but this one hits closer to home. TO the elemental travel need that I have and the realization that my own journey, although it started 6 months ago now – almost to the day - is really as long as I make it and starts when I want it to. So I decided August 1st of this year was the beginning and it will run for 1 year. I will travel my own life and write about the new person that I am. Oh, there will be history thrown in, there has to be, it reflects and informs whom you are, but the history will not be the journey.
14. Dry off from your bath and move to the bed. Bring your book, but tonight you won’t need it, instead you will have long and slow sex many times over until the combination of the early hour you awoke, your dancing, drinking and soaking all catch up with you and lull you into a land filled, for the first time n months, with lovely dreams full of women dancing and yourself being free and floating. Taking control of yourself and your own world. This is your year. Your year to do as you please be, as you want to be. You are no in the world, you are the world.
2. Read – something light and fun but with enough biting with to keep it interesting. How about something like Jasper Fforde’s “The Fourth Bear”
3. Make a grocery list with all of the possibilities for lunches and dinners for the next week. It exciting to dream ahead to a grilled chicken salad adorned with tomatoes you’ve grown yourself (or picked up at the farmers market) grilled on your new back deck with its sweet little baby grill.
4. Have a lovely time at the market. If everything is not new to you, pretend it is. I walked down each isle marveling at all of the new stuff I could buy.
5. Arrange your new purchases in your cupboards. This is not yet habit for me. I am still deciding where things go and how to put things.
6. Have tea and toast with blackberry jam or, if you are feeling decadent – and I always am- with nutella. Nothing is better then sitting in your new little sitting room in your new comfy chair and reading that last chapter of the book you’ve loved from page one.
7. OK< Now you’ve pampered yourself and you’ve done your shopping. It’s still quite early. Ten am even. I went to run another errand. Pick up a few things for the new place at a local store. A brushed metal coat rack for the hall, a new set of sheets, perhaps a knickknack or two. Take them home and arrange them. I cleaned a bit as well and “finished” unpacking (are you ever really finished?).
8. Now it is noon. Time for a quick nip of a shower and a bite of lunch (Left over pizza from the night before) and off to a Belly Dancing class.
9. I highly recommend belly dancing, esp. with a friend. This was an introductory course. Having a friend along will allow you to laugh at yourself rather then take yourself so seriously. The instructor was marvelous. And marvelously six months pregnant. If belly dancing gives you that body, I am in, even pregnant she was tight and lean and sensual. I learned a few things in the 3 hours of class. It certainly made me want to take more. I am no dancer for certain, but feeling your body move to music centers you and belly dancing makes you pay attention.
10. After that class, hang out with that friend. Do some errands with her. Chat.
11. Dinnertime, already? But of course. Pick up a few small bites at the local organic grocery store. Don’t bother making dinner; you’ve had a full day.
12. Share dinner with another friend, one that doesn’t care if you are sweaty from dance class. One that will arrange the supper, pour you a big glass of wine and serve your dinner to you on the couch. This friend will also clean up after dinner while.
13. His cleaning up will allow you to take a long hot bath with a new book and a glass of wine. I chose to read Frances Mayes “A Year in the World”. What a better way to get to know a travel book then a hot soak. She describes a year of adventure she had while traveling to places she had always wanted to go. It’s your basic travel book. Describing places and food but this one hits closer to home. TO the elemental travel need that I have and the realization that my own journey, although it started 6 months ago now – almost to the day - is really as long as I make it and starts when I want it to. So I decided August 1st of this year was the beginning and it will run for 1 year. I will travel my own life and write about the new person that I am. Oh, there will be history thrown in, there has to be, it reflects and informs whom you are, but the history will not be the journey.
14. Dry off from your bath and move to the bed. Bring your book, but tonight you won’t need it, instead you will have long and slow sex many times over until the combination of the early hour you awoke, your dancing, drinking and soaking all catch up with you and lull you into a land filled, for the first time n months, with lovely dreams full of women dancing and yourself being free and floating. Taking control of yourself and your own world. This is your year. Your year to do as you please be, as you want to be. You are no in the world, you are the world.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The dreams are worse
I thought starting this new phase this new city would keep the dreams at bay. Perhaps it is the illness or [perhaps the mojo of this place but the dreams are more vivid and more upsetting.
Night before last it was a swimming pool. I was trying to keep it clean and show it to people and then finally sell it, but he kept blocking all of my actions. Once, having an all night sex party that I wanted to attend but wasn’t told about – but watched from a high high window.
Last night was a house, full of rooms that were unused. The house had a swamp outside of it. It looked rather like that Club in Portland – all dark and hot, but beautiful at the same time. There were people there. He was playing music again, but this time just for me; just him and a guitar. Though I know he is making music again (I’ve been dreaming of that for over a month) I doubt it is just him and a guitar, that is not his style.
The house was broken inside. I had to go through drawers to find something. The drawers were filled with maps. I should have taken one of those maps and followed it to where ever it told me to go. I sort of did, in real life. I chose a city and moved to it and now I am a stranger among strangers. But haven’t I always been.
I must go, shake off the death grip of that dream, have a shower in my blue bathtub, have cereal at my cozy kitchen nook, look over my balcony at this strange city – Maybe my dreams will change to those before the war – those that for told a quiet life filled with flowers and walks to the river.
Night before last it was a swimming pool. I was trying to keep it clean and show it to people and then finally sell it, but he kept blocking all of my actions. Once, having an all night sex party that I wanted to attend but wasn’t told about – but watched from a high high window.
Last night was a house, full of rooms that were unused. The house had a swamp outside of it. It looked rather like that Club in Portland – all dark and hot, but beautiful at the same time. There were people there. He was playing music again, but this time just for me; just him and a guitar. Though I know he is making music again (I’ve been dreaming of that for over a month) I doubt it is just him and a guitar, that is not his style.
The house was broken inside. I had to go through drawers to find something. The drawers were filled with maps. I should have taken one of those maps and followed it to where ever it told me to go. I sort of did, in real life. I chose a city and moved to it and now I am a stranger among strangers. But haven’t I always been.
I must go, shake off the death grip of that dream, have a shower in my blue bathtub, have cereal at my cozy kitchen nook, look over my balcony at this strange city – Maybe my dreams will change to those before the war – those that for told a quiet life filled with flowers and walks to the river.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
The Standard Disclaimer
Writing, for me, is all about healing. It is about describing an action, event or moment in time from my point of view (after all, I am no empath, what other point of view do I have?).
I post here so that the people *I* know can read it and anyone else who wonders here can as well. This is not a public forum but rather a place in the world where I can keep thoughts and feelings.
Yes, granted, anyone could see this, but for the most part people who do are searching it out for a reason and perhaps know the people involved. Like any memoir it is full of truth but that truth is my own and only my own. I do not pretend to speak for anyone else or how they see things or feel about things or people who might be represented here.
If you do not agree with the portrayal of an event, simply ignore mine and do not come back or speak of it, it is the right and sane thing to do.
I have the right to my story just as you have the right to yours. I am portrayed in not-so-nice terms in many venues just as I am portrayed in overly nice terms in others. I figure it all works out for everyone in the end if we keep in mind that writing is a form of truth that is only truth for a moment then moves beyond itself and gets read into and out of and over... over and over again.
Do I still feel the same way I did 6 months ago? For some things yes, for some things no. Do I see things differently now then I did then? For some things yes, for some no. Is it true that everything is true here? Yes, emphatically and also no emphatically
That is the reality of reality.
It can change in an instant, a phone call, a heart beat, a plane ride....
I post here so that the people *I* know can read it and anyone else who wonders here can as well. This is not a public forum but rather a place in the world where I can keep thoughts and feelings.
Yes, granted, anyone could see this, but for the most part people who do are searching it out for a reason and perhaps know the people involved. Like any memoir it is full of truth but that truth is my own and only my own. I do not pretend to speak for anyone else or how they see things or feel about things or people who might be represented here.
If you do not agree with the portrayal of an event, simply ignore mine and do not come back or speak of it, it is the right and sane thing to do.
I have the right to my story just as you have the right to yours. I am portrayed in not-so-nice terms in many venues just as I am portrayed in overly nice terms in others. I figure it all works out for everyone in the end if we keep in mind that writing is a form of truth that is only truth for a moment then moves beyond itself and gets read into and out of and over... over and over again.
Do I still feel the same way I did 6 months ago? For some things yes, for some things no. Do I see things differently now then I did then? For some things yes, for some no. Is it true that everything is true here? Yes, emphatically and also no emphatically
That is the reality of reality.
It can change in an instant, a phone call, a heart beat, a plane ride....
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Dreaming of Spain
Spain seems like a long way away from here – but with this beach and this body of water – I can almost imagine myself being there again. Barcelona was life changing. I think, perhaps for the very first time, I actually got that feeling of happy relaxation when I visited there. It was a rainy Sunday morning. In Spain, Sunday is family day. Most everything is closed except the church and we had four within walking distance of us. Four HUGE catholic cathedrals replete with robed men to lead you into a holy state. I had wanted to go to one of these services. Dip my fingers in the cool stone basin, dribble the water on my head, kneel and genuflect, but my traveling partner (who had been my partner as well) was not so much into that anymore. Memory of his past kept him from being excited by actually going to a service. Instead, he lay in bed through the morning, sleeping on an off, slightly feverish. I bathed. One of my favorite things to do is to light a few candles and draw a seeringly hot bath and read while submerged in the water. The bathtub we had in the room was square and deep and perfect. I have not found the like again. The cloud filled sky gave way to a steady and pattering rain against the brick and stone outside of our room. The quiet of his sleep leant itself to the quiet of my bath.
Submerged up to the chin in sweet smelling water I read of a time in Spain when Federico ruled and women who had visions were shunned at best, killed at worst. I had waking dreams of living there, perusing books stores, writing in a turret on top of a grand old building, eating chocolate con Churros everyday. It was then that the feeling happened. Slowly, starting from just under my breastbone and spreading out until even the tips of my fingers and toes were tingling with relaxation and possibility.
I feel that here even though I have no desire to move here like I had to move to Spain. It is a combination of the quiet, the water and the company. Being totally free to express yourself however you may choose. No schedule, no worries, do what you want when you want if you want.
Right now I am on the deck, early grey in hand (thank you David) and watching the ducks play in the glass calm water. I almost wish for rain to complete the mood, but instead a brilliant sun in promising to top the buildings and rule the day. I resolve to go back to Spain, to find that feeling again there and in all of the other place I am. Even in my real life, the daily life of a person chained to reality as we all are. Find that spot in myself that is in total peace and quiet and wonder at the world.
Submerged up to the chin in sweet smelling water I read of a time in Spain when Federico ruled and women who had visions were shunned at best, killed at worst. I had waking dreams of living there, perusing books stores, writing in a turret on top of a grand old building, eating chocolate con Churros everyday. It was then that the feeling happened. Slowly, starting from just under my breastbone and spreading out until even the tips of my fingers and toes were tingling with relaxation and possibility.
I feel that here even though I have no desire to move here like I had to move to Spain. It is a combination of the quiet, the water and the company. Being totally free to express yourself however you may choose. No schedule, no worries, do what you want when you want if you want.
Right now I am on the deck, early grey in hand (thank you David) and watching the ducks play in the glass calm water. I almost wish for rain to complete the mood, but instead a brilliant sun in promising to top the buildings and rule the day. I resolve to go back to Spain, to find that feeling again there and in all of the other place I am. Even in my real life, the daily life of a person chained to reality as we all are. Find that spot in myself that is in total peace and quiet and wonder at the world.
Domestic Details
I washed clothes today – normally not something one would write about, but laying here reading a story about travel in a vacation home thousands of miles from my own, wearing the shirt I washed to bed… all I can think of is home. Not only my new home, the home full of love and hope and promise, but my first home, my family home, my mother.
I was wondering why I was thinking about her when I realized it was the fabric softener. I don’t use it when I wash normally, but here, they have it, Snuggle. The smell of it reminds me of the farm, of Saturdays when I would do the wash. I usually put too much in (just as I did today) but the smell, like rain or flowers, is worth that little bit extra.
I wish I could live close to my family and my friends, but they are all scattered. I wish I could have a job where I could have several places that I lived – or maybe one place but the leisure enough to travel to those other places and be completely free. I miss my family terribly. They don’t really know the person I turned out to be and it makes me sad to think of that. I doubt I could live in the state where I grew up. Though maybe I could, maybe if I could manage to keep mostly to myself, my ideas anyway – too liberal. I would likely offend people, get in trouble and unfortunately I am not quite brave enough not to care. I know some people who can live that way and I admire them, but I have not yet grown to that point.
I wonder what my old classmates would think of me now, of what I do and how I am. I don’t know any of them anymore. I’ve lost track of my best friend, the one who got me through much of high school and ended up so different from myself. We used to say we would be Kate and Alley – perhaps we still will be. It will be me without the kid though.
Washing clothes is essentially a domestic task, but the domestic details of daily life are what keep us grounded. I quite enjoy cleaning and doing laundry – one of those few tasks you can start and complete and know you have accomplished something. Admittedly, it does get to be a chore, something you have to do even when you don’t feel like it, but on days like today when the simple scent of fabric softener can bring you memories of a happy time long past – it seems well worth it.
I was wondering why I was thinking about her when I realized it was the fabric softener. I don’t use it when I wash normally, but here, they have it, Snuggle. The smell of it reminds me of the farm, of Saturdays when I would do the wash. I usually put too much in (just as I did today) but the smell, like rain or flowers, is worth that little bit extra.
I wish I could live close to my family and my friends, but they are all scattered. I wish I could have a job where I could have several places that I lived – or maybe one place but the leisure enough to travel to those other places and be completely free. I miss my family terribly. They don’t really know the person I turned out to be and it makes me sad to think of that. I doubt I could live in the state where I grew up. Though maybe I could, maybe if I could manage to keep mostly to myself, my ideas anyway – too liberal. I would likely offend people, get in trouble and unfortunately I am not quite brave enough not to care. I know some people who can live that way and I admire them, but I have not yet grown to that point.
I wonder what my old classmates would think of me now, of what I do and how I am. I don’t know any of them anymore. I’ve lost track of my best friend, the one who got me through much of high school and ended up so different from myself. We used to say we would be Kate and Alley – perhaps we still will be. It will be me without the kid though.
Washing clothes is essentially a domestic task, but the domestic details of daily life are what keep us grounded. I quite enjoy cleaning and doing laundry – one of those few tasks you can start and complete and know you have accomplished something. Admittedly, it does get to be a chore, something you have to do even when you don’t feel like it, but on days like today when the simple scent of fabric softener can bring you memories of a happy time long past – it seems well worth it.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Vacation
Vacation
For the first time in years I am relaxed. I have had a few days off from work and have done (and this IS rare) absolutely nothing but lie around, read, swim, and cook… Usually I must do something all day long with only short breaks to indulge in such activities. Those things are usually mindless things, cleaning, arranging, running errands, and making plans, working on stuff for work. But this week, so far, I have done nothing but sloth. It feels good, good to be dependent on no one, good to know that I am being encouraged to do this by everyone, supported and not guilted.
I have had a lot of guilt in the last six years. You don’t realize how much it envelops your life until it is magically gone. Of course the leaving of that guilt was not magic, in fact it was a hard reality that I would wish on no person. A reality full of disrespect. Oh, I believe he loves me, believe that I love him (yes, still, I love him) but he stopped respecting me and that is a fate worse then stopping loving me.
He knows where I am now, if he cares to remember. This trip was to be with him too, all of us together, have a chance to have a good time and to connect again. There is a strong connection with these people. A surprising one considering my age. I am, though, still the outsider. Maybe not as much as I was, but certainly still a bit on the fence. Not of anyone’s specific doing, it just happens that way – it is a combination of my distance, life experience, personality. It was apparent when they asked me not to go to SF when I so clearly needed to. I think that there was fear I would ruin a vacation, make it all about me. But I never had before and I wouldn’t have then, but I understand the sentiment, why have someone damaged when you are trying to relax. But it did hurt. I needed proximity to people who would not mar me, I needed to do and see different things then I was seeing. I needed to be out of my element so I could have some distance from that thing that damaged me. But I could articulate none of that and I have never told them how much they’re asking me not to come hurt me.
But that is over, past and done. I muddled through without that, found escape and support without a trip. It was probably arbitrary anyway. And things have moved so far past it that it is not even worth mentioning or talking about. Certainly things are good now. Not the best, not back to being ultimately happy, but was I truly ever. Even now I wonder. I spent so many years wondering if I was happy and I still don’t know. Now I am though. Partly because of the things that have happened since the divorce and partly because I am a different person.
This is the truth; I will never be that person again. I fundamentally changed the day he left me at the airport. At first it was for the worst. I have never felt like I did. I wanted to shoot myself, to drive into a truck to tear my eyes out and to wound ever part of me. Pierce my body in places where they couldn’t’ save me. I tried some things, but I was saved too many times by too many people. Why did I become so self-mutilating? I guess I believed the best part of myself was gone. No warning, nothing to tell me that he would do that. Not until I looked back did I even realize what had been happening. She too was a clue, but one I didn’t see. I have changed so much. I am not sure others can really see the difference, not the ones that know me from work or the cursory acquaintances, but the ones that know my inner self know that I am not the person I was. I will forever be damaged, but I hope, and maybe this is naive, that this damage will make me stronger and make that hurt something that cannot occur again. A piece of my soul was ripped out and stolen and nothing will give it back, it is forever missing. Some part of me will always love him. The him that I loved is still there somewhere, perhaps buried forever, but there nonetheless. I see glimpses of it when he writes to me of things he things matter to me, or matter to him. But I also see the new him, the him that I saw only glimpses of when we were together, the him others got full force but was never directed at me. I get those emails now, the ones he used to send to others. They confuse and frighten me and make me wish I wasn’t me and didn’t have to read them, but because of who I am, I do. Someday they will stop hurting, but it may take a while, perhaps seventy is a good age to look forward too.
If it wasn’t for the people I have in my life, I would still be that person who walked all night with two phones in her hand and the computer two feet away, obsessively calling and texting and che4cking email. Calling the police every three hours for word, calling everyone I knew, emailing everyone I knew for some word, any word of how he was doing, where he was, if he was still alive. I lost 20 pounds in two weeks being that person. I never knew that person was inside of me, could take me over. I fear that happening again. God help me it doesn’t.
I started off talking about vacation and rambled on to what happened 6 months ago. 6 months that dominated and ruined what I thought was a life. I am slowly getting it back, that life. This time I hope it is better; that it will treat me more nicely and that I will come out with a better out look a better future.
For now, it is back to napping and reading and swimming and thinking about the possibilities of that life and of who am I am want to be.
For the first time in years I am relaxed. I have had a few days off from work and have done (and this IS rare) absolutely nothing but lie around, read, swim, and cook… Usually I must do something all day long with only short breaks to indulge in such activities. Those things are usually mindless things, cleaning, arranging, running errands, and making plans, working on stuff for work. But this week, so far, I have done nothing but sloth. It feels good, good to be dependent on no one, good to know that I am being encouraged to do this by everyone, supported and not guilted.
I have had a lot of guilt in the last six years. You don’t realize how much it envelops your life until it is magically gone. Of course the leaving of that guilt was not magic, in fact it was a hard reality that I would wish on no person. A reality full of disrespect. Oh, I believe he loves me, believe that I love him (yes, still, I love him) but he stopped respecting me and that is a fate worse then stopping loving me.
He knows where I am now, if he cares to remember. This trip was to be with him too, all of us together, have a chance to have a good time and to connect again. There is a strong connection with these people. A surprising one considering my age. I am, though, still the outsider. Maybe not as much as I was, but certainly still a bit on the fence. Not of anyone’s specific doing, it just happens that way – it is a combination of my distance, life experience, personality. It was apparent when they asked me not to go to SF when I so clearly needed to. I think that there was fear I would ruin a vacation, make it all about me. But I never had before and I wouldn’t have then, but I understand the sentiment, why have someone damaged when you are trying to relax. But it did hurt. I needed proximity to people who would not mar me, I needed to do and see different things then I was seeing. I needed to be out of my element so I could have some distance from that thing that damaged me. But I could articulate none of that and I have never told them how much they’re asking me not to come hurt me.
But that is over, past and done. I muddled through without that, found escape and support without a trip. It was probably arbitrary anyway. And things have moved so far past it that it is not even worth mentioning or talking about. Certainly things are good now. Not the best, not back to being ultimately happy, but was I truly ever. Even now I wonder. I spent so many years wondering if I was happy and I still don’t know. Now I am though. Partly because of the things that have happened since the divorce and partly because I am a different person.
This is the truth; I will never be that person again. I fundamentally changed the day he left me at the airport. At first it was for the worst. I have never felt like I did. I wanted to shoot myself, to drive into a truck to tear my eyes out and to wound ever part of me. Pierce my body in places where they couldn’t’ save me. I tried some things, but I was saved too many times by too many people. Why did I become so self-mutilating? I guess I believed the best part of myself was gone. No warning, nothing to tell me that he would do that. Not until I looked back did I even realize what had been happening. She too was a clue, but one I didn’t see. I have changed so much. I am not sure others can really see the difference, not the ones that know me from work or the cursory acquaintances, but the ones that know my inner self know that I am not the person I was. I will forever be damaged, but I hope, and maybe this is naive, that this damage will make me stronger and make that hurt something that cannot occur again. A piece of my soul was ripped out and stolen and nothing will give it back, it is forever missing. Some part of me will always love him. The him that I loved is still there somewhere, perhaps buried forever, but there nonetheless. I see glimpses of it when he writes to me of things he things matter to me, or matter to him. But I also see the new him, the him that I saw only glimpses of when we were together, the him others got full force but was never directed at me. I get those emails now, the ones he used to send to others. They confuse and frighten me and make me wish I wasn’t me and didn’t have to read them, but because of who I am, I do. Someday they will stop hurting, but it may take a while, perhaps seventy is a good age to look forward too.
If it wasn’t for the people I have in my life, I would still be that person who walked all night with two phones in her hand and the computer two feet away, obsessively calling and texting and che4cking email. Calling the police every three hours for word, calling everyone I knew, emailing everyone I knew for some word, any word of how he was doing, where he was, if he was still alive. I lost 20 pounds in two weeks being that person. I never knew that person was inside of me, could take me over. I fear that happening again. God help me it doesn’t.
I started off talking about vacation and rambled on to what happened 6 months ago. 6 months that dominated and ruined what I thought was a life. I am slowly getting it back, that life. This time I hope it is better; that it will treat me more nicely and that I will come out with a better out look a better future.
For now, it is back to napping and reading and swimming and thinking about the possibilities of that life and of who am I am want to be.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
The first day
Last night my mother called today “The first day of your new life”. In reality that day happened almost 6 months ago now when the Robot decided this his life should begin anew and my life (as a consequence and nothing more) should as well.
I have to say – for a new life – most parts of this have really sucked. Not since my father died have I cried so much, I have NEVER had to figure so much stuff out before – so many set back and kicks in the teeth, just another one the other day. A bill for yet another thing relating to selling a house I am a stranger too.
I calculated how much the divorce has cost me over all in the unexpected expenses and it is topping out at a whopping 64,000. The 50 for the septic but the rest – god the list is so long and poised to get longer.
There have been good things though. The band is doing very well and it is probably the most fun I have had working with another person on a project. Also getting a few movies made with has been really cool – esp. since I can’t wait to see what the Diva does with the dialogue and music and her own vision.
I am so tired though – no the kind of tired that is normal “oh I didn’t sleep well” tired, but a tired that comes straight from inside and permeate my bones and brain and makes me sit for hours listening and watching nothing but the voices and pictures in my head.
So many what if’s and now – today – there is so much that will change. SO much that will be entirely new. A part of me wants to stay in bed, thinking about this and writing about this, but I know that staying in bed never got anything done – I had a very good example of that.
I am excited for my new life. (Well, "Excited and scared" to quote a musical - oh God did *I* just quite a musical???)I am hoping the still open soars of the old one don’t do anything to jeopardize the good parts. As we all no, even if you run away – life finds you. I would never do that, never just run - no matter how tempting- I cannot be cruel, but it is a romantic thought. Instead I will try very hard to let go, burn some sage against eh black oil seeping from my eyes. Do a prayer and emit white light to protect myself from those evil influences. Start my new life with only a shadow of the past. Shadows can’t hurt you unless you let them, and I won’t let them
Bring on the new life – Mom was right – today, it all starts over.
I have to say – for a new life – most parts of this have really sucked. Not since my father died have I cried so much, I have NEVER had to figure so much stuff out before – so many set back and kicks in the teeth, just another one the other day. A bill for yet another thing relating to selling a house I am a stranger too.
I calculated how much the divorce has cost me over all in the unexpected expenses and it is topping out at a whopping 64,000. The 50 for the septic but the rest – god the list is so long and poised to get longer.
There have been good things though. The band is doing very well and it is probably the most fun I have had working with another person on a project. Also getting a few movies made with has been really cool – esp. since I can’t wait to see what the Diva does with the dialogue and music and her own vision.
I am so tired though – no the kind of tired that is normal “oh I didn’t sleep well” tired, but a tired that comes straight from inside and permeate my bones and brain and makes me sit for hours listening and watching nothing but the voices and pictures in my head.
So many what if’s and now – today – there is so much that will change. SO much that will be entirely new. A part of me wants to stay in bed, thinking about this and writing about this, but I know that staying in bed never got anything done – I had a very good example of that.
I am excited for my new life. (Well, "Excited and scared" to quote a musical - oh God did *I* just quite a musical???)I am hoping the still open soars of the old one don’t do anything to jeopardize the good parts. As we all no, even if you run away – life finds you. I would never do that, never just run - no matter how tempting- I cannot be cruel, but it is a romantic thought. Instead I will try very hard to let go, burn some sage against eh black oil seeping from my eyes. Do a prayer and emit white light to protect myself from those evil influences. Start my new life with only a shadow of the past. Shadows can’t hurt you unless you let them, and I won’t let them
Bring on the new life – Mom was right – today, it all starts over.
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