I try to start my mornings with a cup of coffee, sitting on my doorstep in the shade of my apartment. It’s quiet. Most everyone is at work. The parking lot is mostly empty. There’s a fairly busy road running next to me, a few hundred feet away, so it’s not too close, but I’m able to hear the cars passing and I like to sit and think about all of the people going about their lives.
I wasn’t able to do that the past four days.
The past four days have been hard. Heavy. After doing small tasks I was exhausted. Thursday wasn’t hard until the evening. The darkness of night, the end of the day, signaling that there really wouldn’t be a phone call from mom. I slept most of Friday because the weight of reality was heavy. Heavier than normal. Different somehow than what it’s been though I don’t know how to better describe it than that.
It’s not like anything has changed. But somehow it has. Inside my head, all of these days are different. In a way, they’re more real.
Saturday was a bit better, but I still took a nap and went to bed early. Sunday Warren and I went out to lunch. We sat outside because it was a nice day, still cool as far as Florida goes, but not cold. After eating we went to the park where I had spent time with Big Bad. We walked the loop a few times before sitting on a hill in the shade and talking.
I was still hurting from Thursday. I’m still fearing my birthday because I know, out of all of the days coming up, that day is going to be the hardest. Maybe out of all of them so far. Out of the six-month mark, out of mom’s birthday, out of flying to South Carolina with mom’s urn in my backpack, out of placing her urn on my kitchen table the night I received it from the funeral home…
Out of all of the hard days I have faced I am terrified of this one day and I know there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
It will come.
One of the things Warren let me talk about was how I get frustrated with myself. Still. How it’s hard to be patient and understanding. How it’s hard not to feel like the past four days have been regression.
I was doing so well. I genuinely felt happiness for a while, and now I’m back to not feeling it at all. I’m back to being flatlined. I’m proud of being awake, much less showered. I’m back to my “zero-fucks” mentality and wishing the rest of the world would figure its own shit out, which really, it has for the most part. Very few things have needed my attention the last four days and I think that’s helped.
I’ve had the ability to sleep and do nothing other than focus on recovery. I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for the space I have been given, intended or not. I feel it’s what I’ve needed and I haven’t had to fight to get it.
Warren mentioned something that I feel I lose sight of sometimes. If someone breaks their leg, you don’t tell them to “walk it off.” They aren’t weak for wanting painkillers or a cast to make sure the bone heals properly.
Just because my emotional wounds aren’t visible, doesn’t mean they’re not there. I can feel them, like slash marks from the outside of my elbow to the inside of my wrist, slowly bleeding me out.
It’s interesting actually. The pain of mom’s loss, my grief, used to feel like a taloned fist inside of my chest, squeezing my heart, trying to crush it. It made it hard to breathe, to think, to move. I didn’t understand how to do any of that with the pain in my chest consuming my mind. My heart didn’t understand how to beat against the pressure trying to destroy it.
Now, there’s just the feeling of slowly being drained. Like old wounds that have reopened and I now I must wait to heal again so the bleeding stops. If I don’t move as much, if I rest, then I won’t drain as fast. I have a better chance of being ok.
I wish I was better at resting. I wish I didn’t give myself shit for being hurt. And underneath all of that, there’s the wish that I wasn’t hurt in the first place. That I didn’t have to go through this. There’s the wish that things were different and that wish is the one that hurts the most. I’m supposed to be accepting my reality but on some level, I still rage and strain against it and so there’s pain.
There’s the thought that maybe I’m doing all of this to myself, but I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to keep that part of my brain from wishing for things to be different. Not yet at least.
The past days have been hard, but they’ve gotten progressively better.
This morning I did have my coffee. I sat outside and have already gotten a bit of sunlight. I have gone through and caught up on my emails. I have renewed my Vimeo subscription and taken care of some bill stuff I’ve been avoiding. I have jujitsu in a little bit that I want to go to, but I’m worried about. I don’t know who the instructor will be. I don’t know how many people will be there. I don’t know a lot of the moves still. I don’t know if emotionally I’ll be able to keep it together because I’ll have to take my ring and necklace off again.
But I want to go. I want to keep making myself better. I want to keep working through the things that are hard and that hurt so they hurt less. Like physical therapy. It hurts, but it’s worth it in the end, right?
I wish I knew. I think that would make a lot of this easier. If I knew that, in the end, it would be ok then I wouldn’t be so worried about everything. If I knew the things I’m doing now “paid off” in the end and that I eventually get to where I’m “supposed” to be then I wouldn’t fret about messing up or being a slacker. But I don’t know where that is. I don’t have any answers for myself. I don’t have any advice other than “do what you need to do for yourself.”
If only I knew what that really was. I feel like I’m back to haphazardly going through life, trying not to mess things up any more than they already are. Maybe that’s all I can do for now. Maybe I’m back to doing things one day at a time, one hour at a time until I make it through this next disaster of a storm. Until I make it through December.
I had two dreams the night before last.
In one of them I was looking for a mat to go with a cross stitch I was trying to frame. I couldn’t find one the right size which was a little frustrating, but that wasn’t the main point of the dream.
For whatever reason, I looked down at my phone and saw the message “No Service Available” on the screen. I had a sinking, cold, dread feeling in my stomach because I knew the message was because Zane had done something. I woke up feeling exposed and vulnerable. I wasn’t able to go back to sleep for a few hours.
I couldn’t figure out why the dream bothered me so much. I honestly don’t care about my phone. It’s a point of frustration, not dread, for me since I’m having to pay for not only mine but his as well.
I had the realization that maybe it’s not about the phone itself. Maybe it’s about what the phone represents, which is connection. Connection to my friends and family. To my support structure. When I need someone I call them, or message them through Facebook, or text message. I usually send those messages when I’m in bed, or hiding somewhere. I’m usually on my phone, so if I don’t have my phone, in theory, I don’t have a way to contact the people I want when I need them.
Maybe I feel like Zane will cut me off from the people I love and care about. Or some force in general will. It’s something to meditate on.
The other dream started out as me essentially seducing a cute blond girl. No one I’ve ever met. I didn’t see her face. It was a pretty hazy dream, fuzzy and unclear like I couldn’t get it in focus properly.
What I do remember is that I was standing behind her, my arms wrapped around her in a hug, her hands were resting on my forearms. We were just standing here, holding each other. My cheek was resting against her hair, eyes closed, enjoying the moment as we stood in our embrace. I had the thought that I hadn’t seen mom in a while, which was odd. Even with her working, I should have seen her at least once during the day. But it felt like it had been days, weeks, since I had seen her. Something wasn’t right with that, but I couldn’t place what it was.
My brows furrowed as I tried to figure out why I hadn’t seen mom in so long.
That’s when I remembered that mom was dead and that I wouldn’t see her ever again and that I was dreaming. Realizing it was a dream made me not want to be there anymore. The girl wasn’t real. None of it was real. I wanted to wake up and be part of my reality, even if it hurt, so I opened my eyes and woke up.
Zane’s dream bothered me more than mom’s.
I think today is going to be hard. I have a birthday thing to go to for Nicole, but I don’t think I’m going to stay very long.
I have a list of things I would like to do, but I’m not going to sweat over it if some / most of it doesn’t get done. I’ve already completed the time sensitive things so I think I’m doing ok. I’m staying afloat after this latest wave and still riding out the aftermath.
This is my reality , and in my reality I’m still recovering.