I haven’t taken my pills in almost a month. A scratchy voice in my head nods and whispers maybe you should. But I feel no different. I feel honest. I stick my tongue out back, daring it to come and get me.
I feel sad and I for once embrace it, this feeling of blending with the rest of the humans. I feel happy and it’s just a peaceful feeling, born of a wild exhilarated joy and wonder. I feel tired, and ache with loss, and know this too will pass, in the wind, through my fingers, until my life is reborn as I wish.
I won’t not take them forever. But give me this, give me this now to feel. Give me a few precious weeks to just have what you all have-emotion with reason, feeling with need. Let me taste this treasure again.
I am so fucking worn down I broke down in front of my boss today, holding it in until he clearly knew what scab he was picking at, eyes boring into my face, relentless. I have been so solid through this-so focused on the girls, on a new life, and potential, that I had begun stuffing the pain inside me, the only side effects the razor blades in my throat and the heaviness of a new normal. I have been doing what I do best-focusing on everything and everyone but me.
And it’s left me tearful, and angry, and just a little lost, spun round and round until I really am pulsating, like some star ready to collapse. I grieve. I grieve my marriage. I grieve my lost future. I grieve the love I gave so willingly and easily. I grieve being loved. I grieve being scorned.
But I broke down in front of what basically amounts to a stranger. And he reached out, and asked what he could do, and here I am, with a week off to try and find my footing. I have it, mostly, but I’m thrown by navigating those waters where you both care for and despise someone, where suddenly mama bear comes roaring out of the gate, blinded by the need to protect her babies. Waters where I realize I’m not the problem, that my being mad has nothing to do with how crazy I may or may not be.
I have a right to my fucking anger, and have denied myself this for far too long. I have done much of this to myself.
I just want it all to be over, this sticky web of miscommunication, anger, glossy hurt. I stare wistful at couples in hardware stores and think, that’s all I ever wanted, to be happy deciding together. I stare at confident women in coffee shops and think, i could be her, save that lovely hair and glowing eyes. I just want the aftermath, the 6 months later like in the movies where it’s all solved itself and I can crow into the summer morning light my lust for tomorrow and I have fabulous toned arms and I walk into the sunset, drinking wine.
For now, a week off, a rock show, many beers and a bath. It’s a start.
A compass is useless; also
trying to take directions
from the movements of the sun,
which are erratic;
and words here are as pointless
as calling in a vacant
Whatever I do I must
keep my head. I know
it is easier for me to lose my way
forever here, than in other landscapes.
(M. Atwood, Journey to the Interior)