Seems Like It's Been Forever That You've Been Gone

I don’t remember the exact moment or what day it was when I lost myself.  Was it before? Was it during? I’m sure if I retrace my steps I’ll find it.  But it’s a waste of time, to a degree. Looking back on the last 4.5 years or so I can see the mile markers now. 

I’d been through a hell that I don’t think I fully recovered from.  In spite of myself and outward actions of vomit mimicry and an occasional (constant) hex or hiss - I am a hopeless, deep, thorough romantic.  I believe in love at first sight and waltzes in the kitchen while making dinner. I believe in giving your heart so fully to another person that your outlines start to blur (but simultaneously enjoying separate interests).  I believe in love so deep that flaws and quirks are parts of a whole person and you love them unconditionally and unwaveringly. I believe that you love someone how they need to be loved, not how you want to be loved. That means that every up, down, fall, setback, hurdle, accomplishment, stressor, success - every thing is supported unequivocally.  You want to become a race car driver? What do WE have to do to get you there? You want to go back to school? I’ll hold it down while you study or quiz you on whatever it is you’re working on today. Teammates, tag team, crutch, shoulder, partners - I helplessly believe in all of it. I shudder at it because that means giving over complete vulnerability to someone else and trusting them with every cell in your body.  And that, my friends, instills debilitating fear in my normally fearless soul. That is giving someone total power to annihilate you and hoping with all that you are that they don’t.  

I minimized who I was because I so wanted those things.  I settled for things because I justified it as “I can’t realistically expect someone to see past my previous broken relationships and the ‘baggage’ of children.”  Logically, at the time, I’m not exactly a catch. I was pushing 40, I’d been married twice, and I have 4 kids. Anyone who wants me is probably fucked up. I sold myself short.  But I did it because I was blinded by affection, attention, loyalty, and love. I consider myself an intelligent being. But I get straight up STUPID when it comes to those things.  If my mom was alive, she’d tell me because I’m a Taurus and ruled by Venus. Seriously, I have no vices or addictions. I have never had an addictive personality. Love is my heroin.  Once I succumb to it - that’s it. My brain is fucking gone. And I want so desperately to feel that with someone I will ignore each and every red flag and find a way to justify it and empathize.  I will look for the good in every situation and sometimes that is my Achilles Heel.  

So, when my music tastes were not shared - I didn’t hesitate to change the station before I was finished listening to that song.  If the show I was watching wasn’t a mutual like - I had no problem turning it off and handing over the remote even though I was still watching that.  When I started to put on some weight from recovery and got a bit bigger than I was when we met - well, I can handle dropping a few pounds. When the outfit I was wearing didn’t match (it’s my thing, I don’t like matching!) I would quietly go upstairs and change.  It didn’t matter to me if that breakfast request was going to take 3 hours of prep - I loved you. You had a long day and didn’t want to hear me - I can wait because I’m sure my day would just bore you anyway. Oh, the kids are too loud so I can just send them to grandma’s.  Your dad is an asshole, so I will go ahead and run interference for you. Things went bad with your ex and kid, let me take that fight for you because you work hard and it’s too much. Sure, I’ll cover all of the bills with my check - they’re my kids and it’s my responsibility to cover their expenses.  I’m not big on shopping or buying things for myself anyway and I’m a penny pincher on top of that so it won’t bother me. I can just stop talking, or feeling, or expressing, or being - Because I can handle that better than you can cope with me doing. It’s easier to change who I am entirely than for you to accept me for who I am.  My accomplishments were merely the result of the direction of someone else. The talent that I have in my two hands and my artistic ability - I owe to someone else and they are not mine. I wouldn’t have done what I did without the strict instruction of someone else.

There were times I drew the line - I will not quit my volunteer gigs or my business to focus on chores or maintaining a household.  I held on to that part of me. I think it’s what got me through the day. Then I had a breast lump and swollen nodes that couldn’t be explained.  I walked into appointments alone because work schedules clashed and my appointments were early. I was always used to doing those things alone - this wasn’t different.  I mean, I spent an entire pregnancy and had a baby alone, so this is a cakewalk. Only, it wasn’t. I was breaking inside. But I thought that if I just loved a little more, a little harder - I’d get all those things I was looking for.  They never came. And then the dam broke. He crumbled under the weight of all the things that I tried to shoulder for him. Unfortunately, it was at my child’s expense. Then it was at our marriage’s expense. I turned to my loyal friend - Anorexia.  Then I broke. I was sick and everything I touched turned to shit in my hands. I found something that I longed for but sick me can’t make rational decisions.  

All the things that were promised were broken.  That professed love and adoration was poured into a younger vessel that he worked with.  Every person in my life replaced me with something or someone else. Work, volunteering, friends….. I was worthless and expendable.  This is not where I wanted to be. And, this was all my fault. This was both implied by me and expressed by others. My fears were all validated.  No one wants a 40 year old woman who’s “been around the block.” “Those guys just see you as an easy target.” “I am all that you will ever get.” For a while, I bought into it hook, line, and sinker.  

I quit Anorexia.  I had to pull it together.  If I’m ever going to find what I was looking for again, I cannot be like this when it comes.  My thought processes CANNOT include withering away to nothing as a means to resolve conflicts.  I cannot accept responsibility for every single thing in another person’s life. I will not assume blame for things that happened before I even got in the room just because I tried to help fix it.  Not everything is my fault or responsibility. I’ll help get you through the tough stuff. I’ll be supportive and have your back - but in the end, your shit is your shit. I’m cleaning up my own mess and not asking anyone to make it all go away.  

I changed who I was for someone else to love me and they didn’t love me.  I sold myself out and lost anyway. I think that was the hardest realization to accept.  I lost anyway. The last 9 have been about me finding my worth. Maybe I never really knew what that was before. I do now though, more than I ever have. I have to teach my children that love is not fundamentally changing who they are, it's not making someone fit your mold, it's not following them, tracking their calls, cutting off their communication with friends or family, it's not diminishing someone or being threatened by their successes, making someone bear your burdens, or threatening suicide if they want to leave. Or vice versa. If someone wants to leave you, you let them go.

It's been a hell of a ride. Hopefully, it's almost over.

They Say It's Your Birthday!

My hand felt so small in his.  He led me from the car to the grassy spot next to the pond.  He'd have a paper sack filled with fries in the other hand.  She'd take a seat on the concrete bench a few feet away.  No sooner than we got there, we'd be approached from all sides by dozens of hungry ducks.  They knew we had food.  They knew it was for them.  I'd drop fries in the pond and wait for large fish with big mouths to swallow them up.  I remember being so excited.   He'd go sit next to her and they'd talk about their day while I spent my starchy currency on giggles with feathery fowl.

Sitting on that bench now seemed so distant from that memory.  But I still felt so small.  This time, older and wiser, I didn't feed the three ducks that approached me.  I did take their photo but we didn't interact.  Those people are so far away, this old cemetery is my version of connecting with them.  And, because it's also a cemetery, it was perfectly acceptable to sob uncontrollably while talking to people who weren't there.  No one looked concerned.  I let the tears flow and was uninterrupted.  I thanked them for leading me here.  I hate it when people try to comfort me.  Sometimes, I just want to be sad and I want to feel it.  But being an orphan crying for your dead parents makes others uncomfortable.  They want you to stop. Either because they don't know how to react or they don't want to face that their fates will someday be the same.  Or, it's just awkward.

Sitting in a cemetery, having a meal, taking a stroll, taking photos, walking, giggling, smiling, feeding ducks - those are usually met with sour looks or shock and disbelief.  Or accusations of morbidity.  For me, it's just how it was.  It was and is natural.  My mom introduced me to the practice of picnics in cemeteries.  Later, when I became a volunteer for that same cemetery I learned how normal the idea really was.   learned that so many others share the idea that cemeteries aren't "dark" at all.  That cemetery has been a part of my life since I was still in the low end of the single digits.  And, I hope it always will be.

I took a drive through and stopped at all of our favorite places.  Johnny, Stickle, McMillin... Angels made from various stones for myriads of reasons are people to me.  Each place brought different memories.  This tour was different.  It felt different.  I started in the spot I shared with my parents and ended in the spot where I wed my favorite person.

I left and headed to get some fryer fresh donuts.  I passed where she worked even though the building she worked in has been replaced.  I went down Brown Street where I walked with my friends and brought the Oldest to buy video games.  Drove past my old haunts.  The feeling of being connected again was cathartic.  It was necessary.  It was where I grew up.  And, on the eve of my 40th Birthday, it just seemed right.

It got kind of late.  I got in my new-to-me car (a gift of debt to myself) and started to drive home.  There were 3 ways I could have taken.  The route she always drove, the highway, or the road less traveled.  I chose the highway, to get home faster.  Instead, I took a wrong turn and took the route I needed the most.  Soon, I was driving by places that I had forgotten with memories deep in my brain.  They all lit up like Christmas as I rolled past each one.  The Keyhole restaurant that served delicious bread and had Monkeys dressed like famous people on the wall.  Their old house on Salem.  The hospital where I had my Oldest and Youngest sons.  The store where we used to buy chicken.  Hara Arena where I shared oxygen and a roof with Kurt Cobain, Chris Cornell, Dimebag Darrell, Jeff Henneman, Trent Reznor, White Zombie, The Breeders.... so many other bands that I can't remember at the moment.  I shared those moments with friends who are traveling among the stars now.  I drove past my first apartment, my first home, my old doctor, our dentist, our store.  All these memories overcame me.  That accidental wrong turn was really a much needed sprint through Memory Lane.  (Thanks Mom)

The vast gratitude that I have for every single moment - it's powerful.  How lucky I am that life has taken then turns it's taken.  Even the excruciating days.  I'm grateful for every hardship, every tear, every tragedy.  Just as I am grateful for every smile.  I have seen so much and there is still so much left.