I was sitting on Laura’s couch this morning, narrowly holding it together. I was really just waiting for her to leave so I could cry my eyes out (I’m an ugly cryer - a lot of sobbing and moaning and gasping, so I like to do it privately). I think she could sense I was about to have a meltdown, but instead of leaving she gave me a big long hug. This of course is physical sign language for “immediately start sobbing on the hugger’s freshly pressed shirt”, so I obliged.
Aside from the unconditional love I get from my children and a few good friends, the parts of my life that make me feel good right about now are kind of slim. Walks in the sunshine, sleeping with Thora, talking about writing with other nerds, hugging my girls in the morning, a very small handful of friends locally and on the internet, blaming the fact that I’m not on WordPress for all of my life’s problems - those are still the things that sustain me. There are a few other things that sustain me as well. I realized today that although I can rely on people to help me get through this, and I can accept help when it is offered, no one can be my bandage or my security blanket. No one can be there 100% of the time for me and it’s unfair to ask that. I really do need to go through this alone. That doesn’t mean I can’t lean, but I can’t ask others to carry me through this, no matter how safe that might make me feel.
I only have a couple of pacifiers left in my life. Thankfully my usual stand-in, my anorexa-bulim-ieatwhateveriwant hasn’t come back to haunt me. The drug of choice these days is somewhat different. It involves a lot of running myself into the ground, staying so ridiculously busy I don’t have the time to sit with my grief and get through it. When I lived in Raleigh and was trying to shake off a bad relationship, I’d take Delilah to a park about 25 minutes away from my house. I was heavy into recovering from ye olde eating disorder and connecting with nature was the #1 way I survived those days. I’d let Delilah off the leash and she’d run herself into the ground. I’d sit by the abnormally warm lake water (it was next to a nuclear power reactor - nothing says “back to nature” like nuclear power) and write and think and listen to the silence.
I need to spend more time doing things like that, and less time running ragged. I’m neglecting my businesses and I’m okay with it. At this point, financial ruin is #183 on my long list of #183 worries. I’m more concerned about reconnecting with my kids and hugging them a lot and letting them know that it’s all going to be fine, eventually. It’s the process, the road, the journey to fine that kind of sucks right now.
Laura reminded me today that emotions are just chemicals. They come and they go. When I feel like the world is taking a giant crap on my head, I replay our conversation about emotions and become fully aware that happiness, sadness, despair and elation are all fleeting. It’s the calmness or contentedness I miss so badly. My 20s were fraught with so much emotion and destruction that becoming a person who calmly walked through life was like being reborn. I miss that sense of calm and security. Unfortunately, no one else can give that gift to me - I have to find my own way through it, and there are no shortcuts through the grieving process.
It’s pretty indicative of how low I am that the thought of spending 2 1/2 days straight with my kids without help from Mike scares the crap out of me. Can I keep up my Robo-Mom facade all weekend? Can I be strong and calm and uncranky for them for that extended period of time? I’m pretty sure I can but it’s going to be hard. Usually I have about a 3 hour window of normality. After that I start to fray at the edges and it’s not pretty (see ugly crying reference above). To celebrate my current state in life and to remind myself that I am still a funny, loveable person capable of being enjoyed, I’m hosting a party after the kids go to bed on Saturday night. I’m only providing food and charcoal - everyone else has to bring their libation of choice. If you want to come, send me a note and I’ll give you the details.
On really bad days, I wish for a lobotomy so I can just do what everyone else wants me to do. On good days, I know that I will make it and things will be better - for all of us.
