Today my day is the remnants of yesterday. Today my day is better. Today my day is apprehension about tomorrow. Today my day is a day.
The night before last was hard. I slept curled around mom’s urn again as I cried myself to sleep. I slept deeply once I was able to, but I didn’t sleep enough. I had to wake up early for a dentist appointment which left half my face numb for the whole day. After my appointment I should have called in and said I wouldn’t be at work. I knew it wouldn’t end well for me if I continued on with everything I had scheduled.
Instead I drove to Sir’s apartment and did laundry. I got to watch Game of Thrones, which was worth it, but by the time laundry was done I had 30 minutes to get to school. Not enough time to go home, or shower, or change clothes. It didn’t help that there was traffic on the interstate, so I was late. Later than I would have been originally because since I was already late I stopped and got food.
I sat through lab. I saw Clavan towards the end. He hugged me and thanked me for his gift. It was hard not to cry. It was already a hard day without the prodding of a looming farewell in my future. I had the beginnings of a headache, one that I knew was going to turn into a migraine. I was talking to a friend and explaining how I was sad, to which he kept suggesting things to try to cheer me up. I didn’t want to be cheered up, though. There’s no “cheering up” when I miss mom because unless mom can magically come back the only thing I can do is breathe through the pain and loneliness. Distractions don’t work for me. Understanding does. I know he meant well but I wanted someone to listen rather than to give me suggestions.
My younger brother gave me that. I told him I was sad and that yesterday was hard. He said that he understood and was sorry. He gave me a virtual hug and I cried silent tears as I told him I felt alone even though I was in a room full of people. He responded with he understood how that felt, too. We shared in our loss. We shared in our grief, and that small sentence of, “I understand how you feel,” did more to help me feel connected than the paragraphs of text my other friend was sending me.
I needed to be heard. I needed to say, “I’m sad,” and for it to not be a bad thing that needed to be fixed. This isn’t something that is ever going to be fixed. I have sad days and I want to be able to share that with people and for it to not need correcting. I want it to be ok to be sad, because if it’s as ok as everyone keeps telling me it is, then it should be ok rather than lip service.
I think yesterday was so much harder than it needed to be because I didn’t drink enough water. I didn’t drink to replenish what I had cried away the night before. I didn’t eat until too late into the day, and even then I didn’t eat enough. I had an appointment and should have been kind to myself and taken the rest of the day off. I should have gone back home and slept more. I should have done everything differently. I can’t barrel through my days the way I used to. I’m not emotionally or physically in a place where I can do that. If I wear myself down too much physically the depression will creep back in. The sadness. The loneliness. They’re so much harder to contend with when I have nothing in my body to defend against them.
And so yesterday, after spending the day disregarding my body’s gentle reminders to take care of myself I ended up with a migraine which kept me in bed for the rest of the night. No gym. No writing. No preplanning for today. Just silence and darkness and hoping that sleep would eventually come and give me peace.
I slept most of the night. I only woke up a few times to eat and drink water. I woke up at 9 this morning thinking that would be enough time to have a good breakfast before therapy, only to realize my appointment was at 10 rather than 11.
I didn’t eat breakfast, but I’m ok with that. I made up for it later. I barely made it to therapy on time. I don’t feel like I made any progress or revelations today. Right now the four year old inside myself is scared and I need to tend to her. That’s basically what today amounted to.
I’m scared of leaving Orlando because it feels like I’m losing everyone here. It feels like I’ll lose them like I lost mom. That they’ll just stop existing. That they’ll be dead and I don’t want that. I’m so… I don’t know… worried, terrified, hurt, sad at the thought of not seeing the people I care about ever again. I don’t want to lose more people in my life because I just lost mom. I’ve already lost such a huge part of my life. I don’t want to lose any more. And it feels like I’m going to when I leave.
We talked about how that yes, there will be a loss when I move, but it’s not the same as how I lost mom. That’s what I have to make my inner child understand. It’s hard though. It’s hard to change a mentality.
Logically I understand it’s different.
Emotionally my brain gives zero fucks about logic. Emotionally I know this change is painful and pain is bad and bad things should be avoided so I should avoid change. Moving is causing pain so there’s an aversion to it now. Now that it’s real, that the emotions are real, it’s something my inner, injured self wants to pull away from.
I know this is part of the process. I know this is how I grow and change and move forward. Anything worth having is outside of my comfort zone. Trust me I know all of these great, inspirational, spiritual quotes about change and being strong and moving forward… I get it. I do.
Right now I feel like throwing my hands up and screaming in frustration. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m hoping it works out. I’m hoping it’s worth it. I’m hoping it’s right. Hope is a lot like blind faith. Why is it that I was hard core set on this decision, but now that it’s go time I’m second guessing myself and worrying and freaking out over nothing? Why do emotions have to be illogical? Why can’t they just behave and go back into their designated boxes? Why can’t something just be emotionally easy for a little bit? Why do I get frustrated with myself for feeling? Why can’t I allow myself to feel without giving myself shit for it? I’m pretty sure that was something I was supposed to be working on…
It’s not goodbye. This, me leaving, isn’t goodbye. I’m going to visit Orlando and see most everyone again. Why am I making such a big deal out of moving when I’ve wanted to move for so long now?
I’m not going to back out of it. I’m going to move. Everything is set into motion already. It’s too late to back out of it even if I wanted to.
I talked to John, the property manage for the apartment. I stopped by the office after my therapy session. I told him about the fight Zane and I had, how I wasn’t signed off the lease and how I don’t think I would be able to be signed off even if Zane had filled out the paperwork. I asked what would happen when I moved and wasn’t around to sign the documents. John was understanding and looked into the situation for me and we have a solution now. When / if Zane brings someone in to sign the lease they will sign everything on their end, a copy will be scanned and emailed to me, I will sign things on my end, have it notarized, and then sent back with a copy of my ID. This will include the roommate release paperwork so everything gets done in one go.
I’m happy with that. So at least I can leave Orlando knowing that there’s still an out. And I’m still not financially contributing to the apartment. It’s been three months since all of this started. Three months for Zane to figure something out. I’m not going to feel sorry or guilty. If he wanted me to keep paying rent he shouldn’t have taken my room away from me. I’m still angry. I know one day in my near-ish future I will move past this point. I will no longer feel anger or injustice when I think of him, but right now I still give power to that part of my past, and I’m not at a point where I want to meditate on it. I’m ok with anger at the moment because at least I’m not directing it inwards towards myself.
After settling the apartment stuff I went to my sports bar for lunch. I didn’t have my laptop with me so it was a quick stop. Just eating. No working which was actually a nice change of pace.
I went back home afterwards. I showered, changed, went to work. I took my external hard drive with me so I could begin cleaning up my laptop. I have to turn it in tomorrow.
Tomorrow is my last day of work. Tomorrow there will be no fanfare. Tomorrow I will go in, work, then leave as if nothing special or important were happening. Nothing significant. It will be like any other day. I don’t know how I feel about that fact. I want to mark it somehow. Some way. Maybe a picture as lame as that is. Maybe I’ll write sitting on the curb in front of my building. The building I walked in and out of for six years of my life. Almost a third of my life… It’s sort of crazy to think of it like that.
Tomorrow begins my week of farewells. A week of gaming really. I’m going to have so much time on my hands I’m not going to know what to do with myself. I’m going to sleep and wake up when I want to. I’m going to go to the gym when I want to. I’m going to message people and see if they want to hang out one last time. I’m going to figure out my travel plans. I’m going to organize my things and pack my storage unit. I’m going to play laser tag with the people who care enough to be there. And then on the 11th I’m going to begin a two week trip. A two week trip that will end at home. True home. Real home.
I want that so much. Thinking about the farewells hurts, but when I think of what is past those, past the hurt, I smile. I feel happy. I look forward to it. My herb garden. My dojang. My kitchen with my pots and knife set and dish rack. My walk in shower.
I want to be there. I want to go through the exit interview. I want to go through the farewells. I want to go through the traveling.
I want to go home.
And so I guess the biggest part of today is reminding myself that it’s worth it. This pain. It’s worth it. There are things past it. I lose sight of that sometimes. I get caught up in the now. I get caught up in focusing on only the hurt that I forget that there’s a tomorrow. I forget that I’ll be able to hug Jason again. I forget that I’ll see Master Sue again. I forget that there’s all of this positive stuff waiting for me because the only thing I can think of, the only thing I can focus on, is that I’m having to let go.
It’s that moment of jumping from one platform to another. There’s that moment when you’re in the air, caught inbetween, and you wonder if you’ve jumped hard enough, far enough, to make it to the other side. You wonder, question, if you made the right choice.
I know I have. I know I’ll land. I know I’ll stand up afterwards and wonder why I was so scared. But I haven’t landed yet. I’m still in the air, wishing I had solid earth under my feet. I’m still worried that it wasn’t enough. I know where I’m at, and I know where I’ll be.
I just have to breathe and let it happen. I have to trust myself. I have to love myself. I have to hug my inner four year old self and tell her it really will be ok, because it really will be ok. I have to accept that as one of my truths.
My name is Jennifer Conley and I really will be ok.