glass and notebooks and blood and phone calls
text messages and secret plans
broken bodies and hearts and trust and homes
fear
excitement
hope
loneliness
anxiety
love
cuddles
puzzle pieces and night clubs and couches
friends and ex-friends and everyone else
tears and music and diamond rings
hotels
voices
teddy bears and crayons and sex
466 miles, sometimes
cold pillows and puppy kisses
empty water bottles and Family Guy and journal entries
sweat and protein
wild and wonderful
buses
headaches
naps
money and time
anticipation
still fear
but still
hope.
still love.
still time.
Showing posts with label separation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label separation. Show all posts
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Sheets
It's the blueness of the sheets that hits me every night when I struggle to let go of the fears that keep me tied to the conscious world. That blueness seems so far away now, like those memories of visiting the ocean--letting it speak to me one last time--before driving back into the wilderness. I'd give anything to be wrapped in that coolness again, smelling all the smells that signal life is somewhere nearby. Instead I face the redness each time I walk into the room and it's like a stop sign flashing in my mind. But stop signs don't last forever. Eventually, you take your foot off the brake. You accelerate. You leave the redness behind.
I sit here idling, dreaming of the day I can see and feel and smell blueness again, once and for all and forever.
I sit here idling, dreaming of the day I can see and feel and smell blueness again, once and for all and forever.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
On Sacrifice
I want to hold you and kiss you and make everything better. Knowing that I can't fix things for you or help in any significant way--other than to offer my unconditional love and support--makes me feel like a terrible partner. But this isn't about me. I know this is my blog, and I can talk about my feelings all I want. I can say that I feel inadequate, that I wish I could give every penny I had just to make things right for you, that it hurts me so much to see you hurting that it's causing me just as much physical pain as missing you does. Maybe even more. Even if it seems selfish of me to talk about my own feelings in this situation, I know that the feelings themselves are the most unselfish kind I have ever experienced. I'm thinking so much less about myself these days, but not in a bad way. I'm making sure to have enough to cover my needs and plan a little ahead, but for the most part, all I want to do is help, comfort, soothe, and heal. This is the nature of the person that you thought had vanished a long time ago. But now that I've gotten that out of the way, for real, this isn't about me.
I promise that one day soon you will not have to worry about these things ever again. You will be able to relax--to not have to think about it every minute of every day. There are so many more things I want to promise you, if you will let me. I struggle with saying certain things here because I don't know what's appropriate and what's not, so I'm being intentionally vague.
So maybe it's better if I stick with my own situation in such a public domain. But your situation is my situation too.
The words are getting stuck. They want to force themselves out, but I am afraid. I'm not entirely sure why, but I am.
I'm afraid and nervous. I'm confused. I'm hopeful. I'm kind of excited. I don't really know how to handle all of these feelings at the same time. I am trying to focus on the positives in my life and look to the future, but the negatives still need to be addressed before that future can be fully realized.
I had a phone interview this evening that went very well, and I have an interview next Friday for a position that's actually in my field. Both opportunities are in Morgantown. I've looked into short-term/month-to-month rentals starting as early as the first week of September because I won't hesitate to move should I be offered either of these positions. Part of me wants to make the move anyway and do what I have been doing here should I fail to obtain either one: get anything in the meantime and just start saving for a better life, continuing to look for more relevant employment. I'm leaning more and more towards that. I'm feeling the urgency. I'll have enough to make the move and to be comfortable for about a month, and that should be more than enough time to get some sort of job, even if it is as miserable as the one I have now. I feel like this pain in my stomach would lessen a great deal if I could take that step towards independence. It'll be scary doing it alone, but I know that I have to, at first. I need to be the one that can provide that security of a place to stay and food to eat. It's my turn, and I don't want to fail.
I'm crying because I still want to give you everything and cannot. Sacrificing is hard, but not being able to sacrifice when you desperately want to is even harder. A lot harder.
I still have a lot to say, but I need a break. Otherwise, this is going to get even more repetitive.
I promise that one day soon you will not have to worry about these things ever again. You will be able to relax--to not have to think about it every minute of every day. There are so many more things I want to promise you, if you will let me. I struggle with saying certain things here because I don't know what's appropriate and what's not, so I'm being intentionally vague.
So maybe it's better if I stick with my own situation in such a public domain. But your situation is my situation too.
The words are getting stuck. They want to force themselves out, but I am afraid. I'm not entirely sure why, but I am.
I'm afraid and nervous. I'm confused. I'm hopeful. I'm kind of excited. I don't really know how to handle all of these feelings at the same time. I am trying to focus on the positives in my life and look to the future, but the negatives still need to be addressed before that future can be fully realized.
I had a phone interview this evening that went very well, and I have an interview next Friday for a position that's actually in my field. Both opportunities are in Morgantown. I've looked into short-term/month-to-month rentals starting as early as the first week of September because I won't hesitate to move should I be offered either of these positions. Part of me wants to make the move anyway and do what I have been doing here should I fail to obtain either one: get anything in the meantime and just start saving for a better life, continuing to look for more relevant employment. I'm leaning more and more towards that. I'm feeling the urgency. I'll have enough to make the move and to be comfortable for about a month, and that should be more than enough time to get some sort of job, even if it is as miserable as the one I have now. I feel like this pain in my stomach would lessen a great deal if I could take that step towards independence. It'll be scary doing it alone, but I know that I have to, at first. I need to be the one that can provide that security of a place to stay and food to eat. It's my turn, and I don't want to fail.
I'm crying because I still want to give you everything and cannot. Sacrificing is hard, but not being able to sacrifice when you desperately want to is even harder. A lot harder.
I still have a lot to say, but I need a break. Otherwise, this is going to get even more repetitive.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Over a Month Down
I've been writing a lot on paper lately. Some of the things I have going on in my head aren't at the point where they can be shared with the world, and I'm starting to realize that some of them are just for me, no matter how much I feel like I need to share them with others. It's been a challenge trying to hold everything in. I don't know if I would say that things have gotten easier to handle emotionally, but I keep feeling more positive every day. I have my moments, but those are the times that my skills are really being tested. I think I've done a pretty good job so far. I had a major crisis on Tuesday night, and I was able to solve that problem with a little bit of guidance. That would have completely ruined me this time last year. So much of this situation would have. So even though it's Friday night and my weekend plans have been erased already, I'm feeling okay. I had a long day at work, took a nap, figured out a little more about what's happening in my near future, and am handling the pressure of being here pretty well. I have a long weekend--a really long weekend--ahead of me to decompress from the workweek, and I should be ready to go again by Wednesday. (I also have an interview on Monday for a much better, less bullshitty job, so I'm looking forward to that as well.)
We talked longer than we have in about a week last night. I could feel the pain and the anger and the frustration, and all I wanted to do was be there to take it away, but part of me knows that I am responsible for so much of it. I know he is trying hard not to resent me, and it's one of my greatest fears that he'll never be able to get past that. But I have to let time do its work and continue to be open, receptive, and supportive. I cannot blame him for any of his feelings. The situation is complicated, and our relationship is only one part of a much larger and more complex clusterfuck, for lack of a better word. I've never felt this way before. I don't have much, and while I want to hoard what I have away so I can remove myself from this area as quickly as possible, I have a much stronger urge to use what I do have to help him. I've never been able to sacrifice like this before. Have I really been such a selfish person my entire life? And the strange part is that it makes me feel good, all things considered, to be able to give and expect nothing in return. I feel like he deserves it after all the times he has done the same for me. I know this is what I am supposed to be doing. When I go to work at this nightmarish job every day, I'm not thinking about what I can buy or what adventures I might be able to take. I'm thinking of how every little bit I make is going to help both of us into a better life. I only wish I could offer more than what I am able to right now.
That's why I decided to sell my suit. I never thought I would be willing to part with it. It was my first really outstanding creation, and it's been with me through a lot. I feel like it's an important part of me. I love being able to look at it and feel all of the experiences and memories again. But I've ultimately decided that this is more important to me than drag. There will always be other suits. And maybe this is a good way to symbolize that it's time to move forward. The suit does say "Time 4 Change", after all. And I think it is. Whatever money I do get will get me that much closer to the life I want to lead. Again, it's hard to believe that I am the person making these choices. (I've even considered selling my iPad since it is the most valuable thing I own, but I use it way too much for that to be practical.)
I've learned that being able to leave this place on my own and get a job in my future city is an extremely important part of this process. I may not be able to go through all of the steps on my own, but financing such a venture is a majority of the battle, and I already know that I am capable of that. I just have to do the work and wait for my efforts to be rewarded. Having this goal in mind has helped me refocus quite a bit because, honestly, there was a point yesterday where things were a lot more uncertain. I'm not saying that everything is completely clear, but being able to set my sights on something is important for my motivation and ability to sustain whatever it is that I am doing.
I'm learning that that's another one of those Asperger's things that I just have to work around. For as intelligent as I am, I've got pretty shitty executive functioning skills, at least when it comes to managing my own life. I don't know why I can help other people prioritize but have such a hard time doing the same thing for myself. I'm still working on ways to trick myself and get myself past the hurdles. Here are some of my major problems. It's not an exhaustive list, but it's a start:
1. I have a hard time prioritizing tasks. Everything seems equally important.
2. Numbering tasks in order of priority is sometimes helpful, but then I run into trouble if I just can't accomplish one. Then I don't seem to be able to move past it to the next one.
3. I have trouble starting on a new task when another one is in progress.
4. Even when I know exactly what I need to do, I sometimes still freeze. It's like being stuck on the edge of a swimming pool indefinitely. You know you need to jump and are going to do it but you just can't figure out why you won't.
5. If I can't see the concrete steps involved, it's significantly harder for me to get anything done.
6. Similarly, if I can't see a concrete goal at the end or concrete reassurances or reminders throughout a particularly long process--especially if it's something I don't want to be doing in the first place--I lose drive and focus.
7. Stress, feeling out of control, not having a finite endpoint--all of these things make accomplishing anything much more difficult. I can't get organized in my head enough to even begin sometimes.
I've been doing so much better with these things, but I know there is still room for improvement. The fact that I have been able to make myself go to this job that I hate more than any other job I have ever worked (a lot of that may have to do with the circumstance, but I also feel like they are asking a hell of a lot of me for eight bucks an hour) is a testament to my ability to make sacrifices and stay focused in order to get something that I really want. But I need to constantly look at apartments and jobs in the place I really do want to be. I feel like I recalculate everything on a daily basis. I have to give myself visual reminders all the time. That's why it helps when we talk or FaceTime. Seeing him is a reminder for me in a lot of ways. It reminds me of what I have to look forward to. It reminds me also of what happened in the past and how I need to put in my work to make sure it never happens again. It reminds me of the person I want to be and the future I want to have, not just for us, but really for myself. For some reason, just talking about nothing for an hour or so makes me feel like I've got this, no matter what life throws at me.
I don't want people to get the wrong impression. It's not that I am solely focused on relationship things. I'm also doing all that I can to get my educational, financial, and personal goals off the ground. But it helps me to think about everything as part of the same package. After all, the relationship goals wouldn't matter much without taking care of the other ones. So I'm working my ass off, doing my research, preparing for different situations that might arise, and all that fun stuff. I've just been a lot more vocal about my relationship, and I don't think anyone can blame me for that. It's the most fulfilling part of my life. And I feel like I am the last person that would have come to that conclusion. I always envisioned myself as that sort of career-focused person. I realize now that it's not a bad thing. I'm not in a very fulfilling career right now, but I think I have learned over the years that you are not entirely defined by what you do. Your job doesn't determine your worth as a person or the happiness you can derive from everyday life. I don't know if I would have learned these lessons had I taken the traditional route through life. I feel like this post is headed in a very different direction now.
I never would have learned the value of money had I not experienced what it is like to be exceptionally poor. I never would have learned anything about how the real world works--how people are sometimes trapped in roles they don't want. I never would have learned that there is a hell of a lot more to being successful and mobile than just hard work. I never would have seen the corruption, the disparities, the injustices that so many people who grew up in upper middle-class households never have to think about. Along the way, I have lost so many different kinds of privilege, and I'm proud to have learned all the lessons I have. I've learned never to judge people based on one aspect of their lives. What would people say about me knowing that I essentially pack boxes for a living? That I have been in and out of work for the past several years? Would people expect to meet someone with my education, my experience, or my intelligence walking by me as I'm covered in dirt dragging around a pallet full of lawn chairs? Do you know how differently people treat me when I walk around in a suit as compared to when I walk around at work? As much as I can appreciate all that I have learned, it's still incredibly depressing to go from being a researcher with a promising career ahead of him to unloading trucks for next-to-nothing. How many other people have ended up just like this? I know I am not the only one. But I also know that this is not the end for me, so as depressing as it may seem now, I'm just working my way through Right Now, getting ready for What Comes Next. If I could be there tomorrow, I wouldn't hesitate for an instant. But time doesn't work that way, does it?
Another interesting thing happened tonight. My best friend from Kindergarten/early elementary school found me on Facebook. She still lives in the area and wants to do something one of these days. I have so many feelings that I don't even know how to deal with them all. I'm overwhelmingly happy that she did find me and took the time to tell me that she still thinks about those times and how great they were. How she will always be grateful for those years we shared. And that really means a lot to me. I feel the same way. And sometimes I wish I could go back to those days, as I'm sure we all do, because the worst thing that could happen on most days was that you ran out of graham crackers or it got too dark to keep playing outside.
I'm incredibly impatient with my current situation, and that's really helping me work on my impulse control. The hardest part of impulse control for me is delaying gratification or enduring something undesirable to achieve a better outcome. So obviously you can see how this situation is a little torturous at times. But every day that I make it is another win for me. Every situation I endure--every time I stop myself from engaging in self-pity, bitching, obsessing, etc.--I get stronger. Everything I do and endure here has a purpose. If I didn't believe that, I probably wouldn't have even lasted this long.
So tonight, I'm a little sad and lost with what to do with myself, but I'm actually alright. I think I'll relax and watch some Family Guy. I will try not to think about tomorrow or the next day or the next month. I will just focus on what I can do right now to make myself a little happier than before.
Still not giving up.
We talked longer than we have in about a week last night. I could feel the pain and the anger and the frustration, and all I wanted to do was be there to take it away, but part of me knows that I am responsible for so much of it. I know he is trying hard not to resent me, and it's one of my greatest fears that he'll never be able to get past that. But I have to let time do its work and continue to be open, receptive, and supportive. I cannot blame him for any of his feelings. The situation is complicated, and our relationship is only one part of a much larger and more complex clusterfuck, for lack of a better word. I've never felt this way before. I don't have much, and while I want to hoard what I have away so I can remove myself from this area as quickly as possible, I have a much stronger urge to use what I do have to help him. I've never been able to sacrifice like this before. Have I really been such a selfish person my entire life? And the strange part is that it makes me feel good, all things considered, to be able to give and expect nothing in return. I feel like he deserves it after all the times he has done the same for me. I know this is what I am supposed to be doing. When I go to work at this nightmarish job every day, I'm not thinking about what I can buy or what adventures I might be able to take. I'm thinking of how every little bit I make is going to help both of us into a better life. I only wish I could offer more than what I am able to right now.
That's why I decided to sell my suit. I never thought I would be willing to part with it. It was my first really outstanding creation, and it's been with me through a lot. I feel like it's an important part of me. I love being able to look at it and feel all of the experiences and memories again. But I've ultimately decided that this is more important to me than drag. There will always be other suits. And maybe this is a good way to symbolize that it's time to move forward. The suit does say "Time 4 Change", after all. And I think it is. Whatever money I do get will get me that much closer to the life I want to lead. Again, it's hard to believe that I am the person making these choices. (I've even considered selling my iPad since it is the most valuable thing I own, but I use it way too much for that to be practical.)
I've learned that being able to leave this place on my own and get a job in my future city is an extremely important part of this process. I may not be able to go through all of the steps on my own, but financing such a venture is a majority of the battle, and I already know that I am capable of that. I just have to do the work and wait for my efforts to be rewarded. Having this goal in mind has helped me refocus quite a bit because, honestly, there was a point yesterday where things were a lot more uncertain. I'm not saying that everything is completely clear, but being able to set my sights on something is important for my motivation and ability to sustain whatever it is that I am doing.
I'm learning that that's another one of those Asperger's things that I just have to work around. For as intelligent as I am, I've got pretty shitty executive functioning skills, at least when it comes to managing my own life. I don't know why I can help other people prioritize but have such a hard time doing the same thing for myself. I'm still working on ways to trick myself and get myself past the hurdles. Here are some of my major problems. It's not an exhaustive list, but it's a start:
1. I have a hard time prioritizing tasks. Everything seems equally important.
2. Numbering tasks in order of priority is sometimes helpful, but then I run into trouble if I just can't accomplish one. Then I don't seem to be able to move past it to the next one.
3. I have trouble starting on a new task when another one is in progress.
4. Even when I know exactly what I need to do, I sometimes still freeze. It's like being stuck on the edge of a swimming pool indefinitely. You know you need to jump and are going to do it but you just can't figure out why you won't.
5. If I can't see the concrete steps involved, it's significantly harder for me to get anything done.
6. Similarly, if I can't see a concrete goal at the end or concrete reassurances or reminders throughout a particularly long process--especially if it's something I don't want to be doing in the first place--I lose drive and focus.
7. Stress, feeling out of control, not having a finite endpoint--all of these things make accomplishing anything much more difficult. I can't get organized in my head enough to even begin sometimes.
I've been doing so much better with these things, but I know there is still room for improvement. The fact that I have been able to make myself go to this job that I hate more than any other job I have ever worked (a lot of that may have to do with the circumstance, but I also feel like they are asking a hell of a lot of me for eight bucks an hour) is a testament to my ability to make sacrifices and stay focused in order to get something that I really want. But I need to constantly look at apartments and jobs in the place I really do want to be. I feel like I recalculate everything on a daily basis. I have to give myself visual reminders all the time. That's why it helps when we talk or FaceTime. Seeing him is a reminder for me in a lot of ways. It reminds me of what I have to look forward to. It reminds me also of what happened in the past and how I need to put in my work to make sure it never happens again. It reminds me of the person I want to be and the future I want to have, not just for us, but really for myself. For some reason, just talking about nothing for an hour or so makes me feel like I've got this, no matter what life throws at me.
I don't want people to get the wrong impression. It's not that I am solely focused on relationship things. I'm also doing all that I can to get my educational, financial, and personal goals off the ground. But it helps me to think about everything as part of the same package. After all, the relationship goals wouldn't matter much without taking care of the other ones. So I'm working my ass off, doing my research, preparing for different situations that might arise, and all that fun stuff. I've just been a lot more vocal about my relationship, and I don't think anyone can blame me for that. It's the most fulfilling part of my life. And I feel like I am the last person that would have come to that conclusion. I always envisioned myself as that sort of career-focused person. I realize now that it's not a bad thing. I'm not in a very fulfilling career right now, but I think I have learned over the years that you are not entirely defined by what you do. Your job doesn't determine your worth as a person or the happiness you can derive from everyday life. I don't know if I would have learned these lessons had I taken the traditional route through life. I feel like this post is headed in a very different direction now.
I never would have learned the value of money had I not experienced what it is like to be exceptionally poor. I never would have learned anything about how the real world works--how people are sometimes trapped in roles they don't want. I never would have learned that there is a hell of a lot more to being successful and mobile than just hard work. I never would have seen the corruption, the disparities, the injustices that so many people who grew up in upper middle-class households never have to think about. Along the way, I have lost so many different kinds of privilege, and I'm proud to have learned all the lessons I have. I've learned never to judge people based on one aspect of their lives. What would people say about me knowing that I essentially pack boxes for a living? That I have been in and out of work for the past several years? Would people expect to meet someone with my education, my experience, or my intelligence walking by me as I'm covered in dirt dragging around a pallet full of lawn chairs? Do you know how differently people treat me when I walk around in a suit as compared to when I walk around at work? As much as I can appreciate all that I have learned, it's still incredibly depressing to go from being a researcher with a promising career ahead of him to unloading trucks for next-to-nothing. How many other people have ended up just like this? I know I am not the only one. But I also know that this is not the end for me, so as depressing as it may seem now, I'm just working my way through Right Now, getting ready for What Comes Next. If I could be there tomorrow, I wouldn't hesitate for an instant. But time doesn't work that way, does it?
Another interesting thing happened tonight. My best friend from Kindergarten/early elementary school found me on Facebook. She still lives in the area and wants to do something one of these days. I have so many feelings that I don't even know how to deal with them all. I'm overwhelmingly happy that she did find me and took the time to tell me that she still thinks about those times and how great they were. How she will always be grateful for those years we shared. And that really means a lot to me. I feel the same way. And sometimes I wish I could go back to those days, as I'm sure we all do, because the worst thing that could happen on most days was that you ran out of graham crackers or it got too dark to keep playing outside.
I'm incredibly impatient with my current situation, and that's really helping me work on my impulse control. The hardest part of impulse control for me is delaying gratification or enduring something undesirable to achieve a better outcome. So obviously you can see how this situation is a little torturous at times. But every day that I make it is another win for me. Every situation I endure--every time I stop myself from engaging in self-pity, bitching, obsessing, etc.--I get stronger. Everything I do and endure here has a purpose. If I didn't believe that, I probably wouldn't have even lasted this long.
So tonight, I'm a little sad and lost with what to do with myself, but I'm actually alright. I think I'll relax and watch some Family Guy. I will try not to think about tomorrow or the next day or the next month. I will just focus on what I can do right now to make myself a little happier than before.
Still not giving up.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
THIS IS FICTION, AGAIN. NO TITLE YET
***NOTE***
This is a work of FICTION, though it is based on some events that happened in real life. I wanted to play with the scenario in a creative way. Some of these things happened. Some did not. Please do not make assumptions about which ones are which. Treat this ENTIRELY as a work of FICTION, and try to appreciate it as such. Thank you. Also, I get that it's corny and hastily written. That wasn't the point of the exercise. So back off. :P
***********
He sat with a fistful of shattered glass and broken promises, smoking the last of a pack of cigarettes he found a few hours before realizing he had no choice but to question his own sanity over the last several months and possibly years. He still considered himself a scientist, even though he hadn't seen the inside of a lab in about as long as he had ever worked in one. But he never mentioned this. When people asked him what he did for a living, he usually avoided eye contact and tried to delay responding with "nothing" for as long as he could. And every time he had to answer the question, another piece of him plummeted to the Earth, like a meteorite or confetti or that dead body in the movie Con-Air.
He wondered now whether that had anything to do with his current situation, but for all he knew, the broken glass he left behind could have been the work of a would-be burglar he had caught in the act, and the inevitable struggle would have rendered him a hero instead of the mental patient he learned to define himself as. If only he could remember how or why it started, he might be able to convince himself that his mind had a perfectly rational and reasonable explanation for choosing to abandon him on the most important night of his life. As he choked on the toxins making their way into his respiratory system, he glanced down at the white bracelet on his wrist. Some part of him believed that he would never be able to remove his ivory letter--not until he solved the mystery of what happened on the 5th of July.
The police told Benjamin that his husband found him lying in a pile of the collected remains of every glass surface in the apartment--from the TV to the coffee table to the vase that held the flame-colored roses meant to cheer him up on a particularly lousy summer afternoon. He didn't remember much of that conversation, or the one where his husband threw him out of the house for good without so much as a pair of shoes or a can of soup. Ben couldn't blame him. He cooperated as much as anyone could have with police officers with an apparent moral obligation to contribute to the degeneration of what little sanity or emotional stability he still had tucked away inside of him. He didn't know there were so many ways to call someone worthless in such a short amount of time. They must have a training on that at the academy, he thought. However, he refrained from making any comment at all because he, quite wisely, assumed that a mental institution was a far better place than prison for someone like him.
He survived his stay in the psych ward by writing letters to his husband--letters he could never send thanks to a hastily-filed restraining order that prevented him from making any contact whatsoever or calling 67 Hadley Street his home ever again. He wrote the letters mostly as a way to process his own feelings. The confinement drove him crazy, which sounds a little ironic considering the nature of the facility, but Ben wasn't the kind of man that liked to sit still. He was an avid runner, cyclist, weightlifter, and recreational athlete that had once had quite a promising future in athletics, until he decided to stop pretending to be a woman some years beforehand.
So he kept his pen moving when his body could not. He wrote until the cuts on his hands would start to bleed. And then he just kept writing, not seeing the use in clearing away the blood running down his fingers and pooling at the very point where pen met paper. Every word was still visible behind its rust-colored pond. The darkest ones seemed to be the most real.
You'd think that there would be more to Ben's story in the hospital, but in truth, he was tired of being on medication for problems he wasn't even sure were real anymore. He had begun to question his own reality in the weeks prior to the incident. He felt less and less like himself until his mind must have just let go completely. This was the best explanation he could come up with, and eventually, the doctors stopped trying to force the pills down his throat, and after some more time, they stopped coming to his room altogether. He was on his own, and he had realized that from the beginning. When he was no longer afraid of the withdrawal symptoms and could stop replaying his fantasy of blowing his brain matter into a Rorschach mural on the bathroom wall, he signed himself out of the hospital.
Two hours later, he stood 51 feet away from the very bottom step of house number 67, where he could still hear his 3-month-old puppy crying from behind the red brick walls. He knew he should have walked away at that point, but the thought of living without his dog--even on the streets of East Cleveland with winter approaching--was another razor-sharp shard of broken plasma TV resting ever so gently on his brainstem, having already pierced the skin, just waiting for the right moment, perhaps a twitch of panic, to make contact with the place that made him breathe. These were his thoughts, not mine, by the way. That's just the way he was. Everything was either dramatic or non-existent. No wonder.
At 33 feet, he saw his husband's car--or ex-husband's, maybe, since he wasn't really sure what the situation meant, though he probably should have been smart enough to figure that out, being a brilliant biologist and all. It was too late to run. He had already been seen, and fear of getting flattened by an F-350 with the redneck pride flag printed across its back window urged him to move even closer to the man who was more likely to have him arrested with each additional foot he advanced.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I live here..."
"Not anymore you don't."
"I just need some things."
"You can have your shoes. But you can't come inside."
"I...I can't leave. Please talk to me."
"I have nothing to say to you. Ever again."
"I just...Baby, please. I can't. Please talk to me. I can't do this."
"I don't care where you go. That's up to you. But you cannot stay here."
He didn't know what else to say. His mind was stuck in an infinite loop of can't-won't-scream-cry-panic. His knees forgot what they were designed to do, and he hit the ground hard, catching himself on more fractured glass than pavement, reopening wounds he thought were well on their way to healing. He lifted his hand to see that he had tiny pieces of mirror embedded in his palm, and at that moment more than any other, as his husband walked past him into the house without another syllable, he felt like eating his own reflection. One shard at a time.
He sat and allowed himself to bleed and cry until his body had had enough of these things, and around the same time, the screen-door skin of the house seemed to rupture, spewing out crimson bags of shoes, medicines, clothes, and the inevitable glitter-glass that covered everything on the property, inside and out.
Blood-red hands, blood-red bags, and blood-red eyes walked up the street, attached to a man whose body and mind should have stopped betraying him years before, if life were to be fair in any fucking way. (Again, his words. Not mine. Maybe he should've written this instead.) He didn't know what to do, where to go, or when he would ever find a place to call home again. But, for whatever reason, he walked. It might have been pure instinct at that point, his neocortex having shut down almost completely for the second time in an all-too-brief-yet-never-ending span of time. But had he not taken those first zombie-like shuffles away from his past, he would have never tripped over the chance to find his future.
Benjamin continued to bleed for a long time after that. I'm told that he and his husband are back together again and that they have a 3-year-old daughter named Annabelle. Ben's hands are permanently scarred, not only because of the initial disaster and the subsequent reinjury, but because, for a long time, Ben picked at his wounds until they bled just as fiercely as they did that very first night. He did this every day for quite some time, often without realizing it. And the day he stopped ripping away scab after scab was the day his husband finally called.
Tears fell to the pages of Ben's tattered journal as he listened to the song to which they danced on the night of their wedding, and before he hung up the phone--on what would be the anniversary of the death of their old life together--his husband didn't ask Ben to come home. He said that it was time for both of them to go home.
Sixty-seven minutes later, you could hear the makeup sex two blocks over. (What's another few dozen kids in therapy, right?) It was hot and sweaty and filled with all the best kinds of screaming and way too many different kinds of crying. And that's being discreet. I could have also told you about the biting and the scratching and the broken headboard and the various bodily fluids that ended up defying gravity in the end.
Marcus looked at the scars all over his partner's hands (and body), following the trail from one to the next with his lips, like he was sucking the venom out of a lethal snake bite.
"Your scars make you so much more beautiful," he said to Ben.
Ben smiled with tears forming in the corners of eyes that seemed to have aged a dozen years since the last time they shared a bed together. He spoke softly but with more conviction than he could ever remember: "So do yours. I'm just sorry that I had to be the one to give them to you."
"You never have to be sorry, Ben. I don't blame you for what happened. And it's like we said: We're both more beautiful for having these marks, whether they have formed on the body or the soul. I wouldn't trade these scars for anything." As he said these last words, he moved his hand right towards his partner's heart, just above the place where a new scar would one day form. And he knew he would love that one too.
"Do you really mean that? I mean, you know my mind wasn't in the right place when it happened, but that doesn't mean I am not responsible for so, so much pain in your life...And I can't promise that I won't cause you more pain."
Marcus paused for a long time after that. He breathed slowly, never breaking eye contact with the man whose stormy seas had made him such a well-conditioned sailor. "I never expected you not to cause me pain. That's kind of a given with marriage. But you were gone for a long time--long before your episode or whatever we want to call it now. I lost the man I married, for whatever reason, to a shell of a person that needed life support in a way that I just couldn't provide. It was killing me too, and saying goodbye felt like they pulled the plug on me instead. I felt like I said goodbye over and over again every single night when I had to crawl into this bed with nothing but an empty space next to me...It never stopped smelling like you."
"What made it stop?"
"What do you mean, Ben?"
"I mean, like, how did you know when you stopped having to say goodbye? How did you--"
"How did I know the man I married had finally come back to me?"
"Well...yeah."
"You found it again."
"Found what?"
"Your smile."
This is a work of FICTION, though it is based on some events that happened in real life. I wanted to play with the scenario in a creative way. Some of these things happened. Some did not. Please do not make assumptions about which ones are which. Treat this ENTIRELY as a work of FICTION, and try to appreciate it as such. Thank you. Also, I get that it's corny and hastily written. That wasn't the point of the exercise. So back off. :P
***********
He sat with a fistful of shattered glass and broken promises, smoking the last of a pack of cigarettes he found a few hours before realizing he had no choice but to question his own sanity over the last several months and possibly years. He still considered himself a scientist, even though he hadn't seen the inside of a lab in about as long as he had ever worked in one. But he never mentioned this. When people asked him what he did for a living, he usually avoided eye contact and tried to delay responding with "nothing" for as long as he could. And every time he had to answer the question, another piece of him plummeted to the Earth, like a meteorite or confetti or that dead body in the movie Con-Air.
He wondered now whether that had anything to do with his current situation, but for all he knew, the broken glass he left behind could have been the work of a would-be burglar he had caught in the act, and the inevitable struggle would have rendered him a hero instead of the mental patient he learned to define himself as. If only he could remember how or why it started, he might be able to convince himself that his mind had a perfectly rational and reasonable explanation for choosing to abandon him on the most important night of his life. As he choked on the toxins making their way into his respiratory system, he glanced down at the white bracelet on his wrist. Some part of him believed that he would never be able to remove his ivory letter--not until he solved the mystery of what happened on the 5th of July.
The police told Benjamin that his husband found him lying in a pile of the collected remains of every glass surface in the apartment--from the TV to the coffee table to the vase that held the flame-colored roses meant to cheer him up on a particularly lousy summer afternoon. He didn't remember much of that conversation, or the one where his husband threw him out of the house for good without so much as a pair of shoes or a can of soup. Ben couldn't blame him. He cooperated as much as anyone could have with police officers with an apparent moral obligation to contribute to the degeneration of what little sanity or emotional stability he still had tucked away inside of him. He didn't know there were so many ways to call someone worthless in such a short amount of time. They must have a training on that at the academy, he thought. However, he refrained from making any comment at all because he, quite wisely, assumed that a mental institution was a far better place than prison for someone like him.
He survived his stay in the psych ward by writing letters to his husband--letters he could never send thanks to a hastily-filed restraining order that prevented him from making any contact whatsoever or calling 67 Hadley Street his home ever again. He wrote the letters mostly as a way to process his own feelings. The confinement drove him crazy, which sounds a little ironic considering the nature of the facility, but Ben wasn't the kind of man that liked to sit still. He was an avid runner, cyclist, weightlifter, and recreational athlete that had once had quite a promising future in athletics, until he decided to stop pretending to be a woman some years beforehand.
So he kept his pen moving when his body could not. He wrote until the cuts on his hands would start to bleed. And then he just kept writing, not seeing the use in clearing away the blood running down his fingers and pooling at the very point where pen met paper. Every word was still visible behind its rust-colored pond. The darkest ones seemed to be the most real.
You'd think that there would be more to Ben's story in the hospital, but in truth, he was tired of being on medication for problems he wasn't even sure were real anymore. He had begun to question his own reality in the weeks prior to the incident. He felt less and less like himself until his mind must have just let go completely. This was the best explanation he could come up with, and eventually, the doctors stopped trying to force the pills down his throat, and after some more time, they stopped coming to his room altogether. He was on his own, and he had realized that from the beginning. When he was no longer afraid of the withdrawal symptoms and could stop replaying his fantasy of blowing his brain matter into a Rorschach mural on the bathroom wall, he signed himself out of the hospital.
Two hours later, he stood 51 feet away from the very bottom step of house number 67, where he could still hear his 3-month-old puppy crying from behind the red brick walls. He knew he should have walked away at that point, but the thought of living without his dog--even on the streets of East Cleveland with winter approaching--was another razor-sharp shard of broken plasma TV resting ever so gently on his brainstem, having already pierced the skin, just waiting for the right moment, perhaps a twitch of panic, to make contact with the place that made him breathe. These were his thoughts, not mine, by the way. That's just the way he was. Everything was either dramatic or non-existent. No wonder.
At 33 feet, he saw his husband's car--or ex-husband's, maybe, since he wasn't really sure what the situation meant, though he probably should have been smart enough to figure that out, being a brilliant biologist and all. It was too late to run. He had already been seen, and fear of getting flattened by an F-350 with the redneck pride flag printed across its back window urged him to move even closer to the man who was more likely to have him arrested with each additional foot he advanced.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I live here..."
"Not anymore you don't."
"I just need some things."
"You can have your shoes. But you can't come inside."
"I...I can't leave. Please talk to me."
"I have nothing to say to you. Ever again."
"I just...Baby, please. I can't. Please talk to me. I can't do this."
"I don't care where you go. That's up to you. But you cannot stay here."
He didn't know what else to say. His mind was stuck in an infinite loop of can't-won't-scream-cry-panic. His knees forgot what they were designed to do, and he hit the ground hard, catching himself on more fractured glass than pavement, reopening wounds he thought were well on their way to healing. He lifted his hand to see that he had tiny pieces of mirror embedded in his palm, and at that moment more than any other, as his husband walked past him into the house without another syllable, he felt like eating his own reflection. One shard at a time.
He sat and allowed himself to bleed and cry until his body had had enough of these things, and around the same time, the screen-door skin of the house seemed to rupture, spewing out crimson bags of shoes, medicines, clothes, and the inevitable glitter-glass that covered everything on the property, inside and out.
Blood-red hands, blood-red bags, and blood-red eyes walked up the street, attached to a man whose body and mind should have stopped betraying him years before, if life were to be fair in any fucking way. (Again, his words. Not mine. Maybe he should've written this instead.) He didn't know what to do, where to go, or when he would ever find a place to call home again. But, for whatever reason, he walked. It might have been pure instinct at that point, his neocortex having shut down almost completely for the second time in an all-too-brief-yet-never-ending span of time. But had he not taken those first zombie-like shuffles away from his past, he would have never tripped over the chance to find his future.
Benjamin continued to bleed for a long time after that. I'm told that he and his husband are back together again and that they have a 3-year-old daughter named Annabelle. Ben's hands are permanently scarred, not only because of the initial disaster and the subsequent reinjury, but because, for a long time, Ben picked at his wounds until they bled just as fiercely as they did that very first night. He did this every day for quite some time, often without realizing it. And the day he stopped ripping away scab after scab was the day his husband finally called.
Tears fell to the pages of Ben's tattered journal as he listened to the song to which they danced on the night of their wedding, and before he hung up the phone--on what would be the anniversary of the death of their old life together--his husband didn't ask Ben to come home. He said that it was time for both of them to go home.
Sixty-seven minutes later, you could hear the makeup sex two blocks over. (What's another few dozen kids in therapy, right?) It was hot and sweaty and filled with all the best kinds of screaming and way too many different kinds of crying. And that's being discreet. I could have also told you about the biting and the scratching and the broken headboard and the various bodily fluids that ended up defying gravity in the end.
Marcus looked at the scars all over his partner's hands (and body), following the trail from one to the next with his lips, like he was sucking the venom out of a lethal snake bite.
"Your scars make you so much more beautiful," he said to Ben.
Ben smiled with tears forming in the corners of eyes that seemed to have aged a dozen years since the last time they shared a bed together. He spoke softly but with more conviction than he could ever remember: "So do yours. I'm just sorry that I had to be the one to give them to you."
"You never have to be sorry, Ben. I don't blame you for what happened. And it's like we said: We're both more beautiful for having these marks, whether they have formed on the body or the soul. I wouldn't trade these scars for anything." As he said these last words, he moved his hand right towards his partner's heart, just above the place where a new scar would one day form. And he knew he would love that one too.
"Do you really mean that? I mean, you know my mind wasn't in the right place when it happened, but that doesn't mean I am not responsible for so, so much pain in your life...And I can't promise that I won't cause you more pain."
Marcus paused for a long time after that. He breathed slowly, never breaking eye contact with the man whose stormy seas had made him such a well-conditioned sailor. "I never expected you not to cause me pain. That's kind of a given with marriage. But you were gone for a long time--long before your episode or whatever we want to call it now. I lost the man I married, for whatever reason, to a shell of a person that needed life support in a way that I just couldn't provide. It was killing me too, and saying goodbye felt like they pulled the plug on me instead. I felt like I said goodbye over and over again every single night when I had to crawl into this bed with nothing but an empty space next to me...It never stopped smelling like you."
"What made it stop?"
"What do you mean, Ben?"
"I mean, like, how did you know when you stopped having to say goodbye? How did you--"
"How did I know the man I married had finally come back to me?"
"Well...yeah."
"You found it again."
"Found what?"
"Your smile."
Admission
Today, I recognized that I have started to feel more than one emotion, which I know is one of those really healthy things. I'm still extraordinarily optimistic about where things are going with my mental health and my life, more generally. But at the same time, I am sad about having to be so far away from the person I love. I'm also really stressed out because the psych hospital stole my T, the Food Stamps office messed up AGAIN, my back has been getting worse again, I'm lonely as all hell, and I'm still looking for things with which to occupy most of my time.
I finally told him that I didn't think this was working the way we intended it to. We're both miserable as hell being away from one another. If the point was to learn whether or not we were able to focus more on improving ourselves as individuals by being apart from one another, I think we've learned that, rather than helping us, this is a major distraction and contributing factor to our respective levels of unhappiness. There are a host of reasons why I think we'd be better off working this out in the context of the relationship. One of the major ones I've been dwelling on the last few days is that I think now we both know what happens when we become codependent. We know what it feels like to lose ourselves completely. And we know what happens when we both aren't dealing with our problems effectively. In addition, I think we have more than gotten the point when it comes to appreciating what you have before it's gone. I still wonder how much longer we will have to put ourselves through this. I think I've gained the perspective I need to accomplish what I need to. I think I have regained it more than anything. I've come so far to the other side, in fact, that I think being here is going to set me back more than help me. I am happy that I am mostly resistant to people making sure every little need I have is met. But it's hard to keep that up without feeling guilty. It seems the only way parents know how to show love is by doing things for you or trying to take care of you. But that's just not what I need right now. I need to work on my life in more of a real-life situation. This seems more like a time-out from real life to me. And I really don't believe I need that anymore. I'm strong enough to just get on with it already. And I'm the kind of person who believes you never know until you try.
I was much more into this option of staying in Wilkes-Barre when I was afraid I wouldn't be able to survive on my own in Pittsburgh. I thought that this is what I needed. And maybe I did need it for a few days. But I've always been a fast learner. I've always been able to pick up my own pieces, sometimes a little more quickly than others, and I usually know when it's time for me to move forward. This time in particular, I've felt more capable than ever before. I feel like my mind came back to me. I've always known how to be this person. All those other times when my life turned into complete chaos have finally proven their worth. Every time it happens, it gets easier and easier to handle. I know more of what to do each time.
I don't exactly know how I snapped out of things so quickly. Was it largely the medication? Was it the situation that caused me to finally wake up from the fog I had been living in? Was it that time in the hospital spent doing nothing but thinking and writing and forcing myself to practice CBT like I never have before? Was it the culminating event of months worth of effort and practice and failure? Maybe it was a little bit of everything. I am grateful, regardless. I will never let myself believe I am broken again. I refuse to be a victim. I choose to live. And really live, not just float through life passively.
This disability stuff is about to come to an end. I still have a nine-month trial work period, which will be helpful in the beginning, but I would rather get a job in Pittsburgh, truthfully. I would rather do this in a scenario close to the one I desire. I am perfectly capable of doing it in these less-than-desirable circumstances, but why the hell would I want to if I know it could be done a different, less painful way?
I've come up with some alternative solutions in my head, some of which require more time here than others. As much as I know what I want, I am willing to do whatever it takes. If that means staying here indefinitely, I can handle it. It's going to suck if it has to be that way, but sometimes that's just the way things are. Most people know this without having to be told. For some reason, I always have to remind myself of the simplest things. My brain's a little weird. But I like it, most of the time.
For some reason, this thought came to my head just now: "I will never hide my body from you again." And I know it's true.
I'll probably have more to say soon, but I want to move on to something else for a little while. I don't want to get caught up in a loop. The fact that I am even able to say that and stop myself is pretty fucking awesome. Just saying.
I finally told him that I didn't think this was working the way we intended it to. We're both miserable as hell being away from one another. If the point was to learn whether or not we were able to focus more on improving ourselves as individuals by being apart from one another, I think we've learned that, rather than helping us, this is a major distraction and contributing factor to our respective levels of unhappiness. There are a host of reasons why I think we'd be better off working this out in the context of the relationship. One of the major ones I've been dwelling on the last few days is that I think now we both know what happens when we become codependent. We know what it feels like to lose ourselves completely. And we know what happens when we both aren't dealing with our problems effectively. In addition, I think we have more than gotten the point when it comes to appreciating what you have before it's gone. I still wonder how much longer we will have to put ourselves through this. I think I've gained the perspective I need to accomplish what I need to. I think I have regained it more than anything. I've come so far to the other side, in fact, that I think being here is going to set me back more than help me. I am happy that I am mostly resistant to people making sure every little need I have is met. But it's hard to keep that up without feeling guilty. It seems the only way parents know how to show love is by doing things for you or trying to take care of you. But that's just not what I need right now. I need to work on my life in more of a real-life situation. This seems more like a time-out from real life to me. And I really don't believe I need that anymore. I'm strong enough to just get on with it already. And I'm the kind of person who believes you never know until you try.
I was much more into this option of staying in Wilkes-Barre when I was afraid I wouldn't be able to survive on my own in Pittsburgh. I thought that this is what I needed. And maybe I did need it for a few days. But I've always been a fast learner. I've always been able to pick up my own pieces, sometimes a little more quickly than others, and I usually know when it's time for me to move forward. This time in particular, I've felt more capable than ever before. I feel like my mind came back to me. I've always known how to be this person. All those other times when my life turned into complete chaos have finally proven their worth. Every time it happens, it gets easier and easier to handle. I know more of what to do each time.
I don't exactly know how I snapped out of things so quickly. Was it largely the medication? Was it the situation that caused me to finally wake up from the fog I had been living in? Was it that time in the hospital spent doing nothing but thinking and writing and forcing myself to practice CBT like I never have before? Was it the culminating event of months worth of effort and practice and failure? Maybe it was a little bit of everything. I am grateful, regardless. I will never let myself believe I am broken again. I refuse to be a victim. I choose to live. And really live, not just float through life passively.
This disability stuff is about to come to an end. I still have a nine-month trial work period, which will be helpful in the beginning, but I would rather get a job in Pittsburgh, truthfully. I would rather do this in a scenario close to the one I desire. I am perfectly capable of doing it in these less-than-desirable circumstances, but why the hell would I want to if I know it could be done a different, less painful way?
I've come up with some alternative solutions in my head, some of which require more time here than others. As much as I know what I want, I am willing to do whatever it takes. If that means staying here indefinitely, I can handle it. It's going to suck if it has to be that way, but sometimes that's just the way things are. Most people know this without having to be told. For some reason, I always have to remind myself of the simplest things. My brain's a little weird. But I like it, most of the time.
For some reason, this thought came to my head just now: "I will never hide my body from you again." And I know it's true.
I'll probably have more to say soon, but I want to move on to something else for a little while. I don't want to get caught up in a loop. The fact that I am even able to say that and stop myself is pretty fucking awesome. Just saying.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Weekend Reflections
My head is buzzing, and I feel really distracted right now. I am attempting to focus on doing what I need to do, both long term and in the moment, but ever since the middle of the day yesterday, I've been having a lot of trouble. I keep thinking that this isn't the place for me to do what I need to do, and it seems like a lot of things are trying to convince me of that, even when I try to force myself to forge ahead and believe otherwise.
It is lonely here, and most of the friends I had are alcoholics. And the others...Well, let's just say that I have been trying to contact people since the first night I got back here. I'm definitely making an effort to be more social. It just hasn't been working out, which is actually a lot more discouraging than I thought it would be. I thought it would be easy to just focus 100% on myself and what I need to do to get to a place where I am completely comfortable, at least a good portion of the time. But it's actually much more difficult to remain focused when I feel this isolated.
As much as I love my family, they really aren't about the same lifestyle I am, and that's really hard. I have to go out of my way mentally just to make sure I don't give in. We just have different priorities, and that's completely okay. It's just not very helpful right now. I feel like I am at a point where I need a certain kind of support, and instead of being able to get what I need, I have to fight off the kinds of support I don't need.
I don't want it to be a chore to stay at a baseline level of independence and comfort. I just want that to be a fact of life. My brain is starting to feel more cluttered here every day, and perhaps that is because I haven't been able to talk to people as much as I did when things first happened. I feel much more disconnected from my support network.
I'm starting to see that the purpose of coming here is pretty limited in scope. I need to learn how to function independently, and though that has been pretty taxing due to outside influences, I've been doing a pretty good job at managing my own affairs. I need to save money so that I can put myself in a better position with regard to student loans. I am also realizing that I need to save money to leave when the time is right. I know for a fact that it will be incredibly difficult--if not impossible--for me to figure out any very long-term plans while I am here. As much as I fight it, the feeling of being stuck is hard to escape. It's not bringing me down or preventing me from doing anything, but it is a weight on my shoulders I with which I wish I did not have to contend.
I feel that the biggest detriment to my well-being at this point is my seemingly complete disconnection from my social support network. I will do the best I can to resist the negative thoughts, but I do fear that they will eventually become too much if I don't find a way to remedy the situation. I am definitely starting to have my doubts about the relative pros and cons of being in this place. However, this might be the only way for things to really improve between us. I don't know if we would both be strong enough to not see each other every day if I were closer. Part of me wonders what is so horrible about that, if we are both committed to working on ourselves. But I also realize that time is an important factor in all of this. I know more healing needs to take place, and we need time for the changes we have implemented to play themselves out.
I don't blame anyone for this, but I do feel angry about how unfair it is that I am the one losing contact with friends, losing my home, etc. It seems like things are pretty well stacked against me. I know I can take it, but it is so draining. I keep wondering how much longer I will have to be this strong. This is the third time I have had to come back here, and while I want to stress again how much I love my family and will never fully be able to repay them for all the support they have given me--even when I haven't always deserved it--I do lose a lot of myself being here. And that's another thing I am fighting. Again, I can take it. But it's hard. And it's exhausting. I guess maybe I just want SOMETHING to feel comfortable about this.
I'd give anything to be out with the people I care about tonight. It's been so long since I've been genuinely excited to do something without being terrified of being in a social setting. And now that I finally have those feelings back, I can't take action. It seems kind of cruel.
I started crying a lot earlier. I had to listen to the same two or three songs that have been helping me through this. I desperately want to talk to someone in person. As much as all of this hurts, I know why I am here. I know what I need to do. This is only a small part of my life. Everything will be okay. I won't give up. I will not let any of this bring me down. I have so many reasons to work for the things I want. I am learning what really being strong for yourself and the person you love means. I'm definitely not in an ideal situation, but I need to make the best of where I am and try to achieve my goals. If I can get closer to them here, than I know I can make it anywhere. I won't be broken this easily. This will all be worth it soon enough. Love is so much more powerful and motivating than I ever thought it could be, in all of its forms. I need to remind myself of this constantly.
I won't give up.
It is lonely here, and most of the friends I had are alcoholics. And the others...Well, let's just say that I have been trying to contact people since the first night I got back here. I'm definitely making an effort to be more social. It just hasn't been working out, which is actually a lot more discouraging than I thought it would be. I thought it would be easy to just focus 100% on myself and what I need to do to get to a place where I am completely comfortable, at least a good portion of the time. But it's actually much more difficult to remain focused when I feel this isolated.
As much as I love my family, they really aren't about the same lifestyle I am, and that's really hard. I have to go out of my way mentally just to make sure I don't give in. We just have different priorities, and that's completely okay. It's just not very helpful right now. I feel like I am at a point where I need a certain kind of support, and instead of being able to get what I need, I have to fight off the kinds of support I don't need.
I don't want it to be a chore to stay at a baseline level of independence and comfort. I just want that to be a fact of life. My brain is starting to feel more cluttered here every day, and perhaps that is because I haven't been able to talk to people as much as I did when things first happened. I feel much more disconnected from my support network.
I'm starting to see that the purpose of coming here is pretty limited in scope. I need to learn how to function independently, and though that has been pretty taxing due to outside influences, I've been doing a pretty good job at managing my own affairs. I need to save money so that I can put myself in a better position with regard to student loans. I am also realizing that I need to save money to leave when the time is right. I know for a fact that it will be incredibly difficult--if not impossible--for me to figure out any very long-term plans while I am here. As much as I fight it, the feeling of being stuck is hard to escape. It's not bringing me down or preventing me from doing anything, but it is a weight on my shoulders I with which I wish I did not have to contend.
I feel that the biggest detriment to my well-being at this point is my seemingly complete disconnection from my social support network. I will do the best I can to resist the negative thoughts, but I do fear that they will eventually become too much if I don't find a way to remedy the situation. I am definitely starting to have my doubts about the relative pros and cons of being in this place. However, this might be the only way for things to really improve between us. I don't know if we would both be strong enough to not see each other every day if I were closer. Part of me wonders what is so horrible about that, if we are both committed to working on ourselves. But I also realize that time is an important factor in all of this. I know more healing needs to take place, and we need time for the changes we have implemented to play themselves out.
I don't blame anyone for this, but I do feel angry about how unfair it is that I am the one losing contact with friends, losing my home, etc. It seems like things are pretty well stacked against me. I know I can take it, but it is so draining. I keep wondering how much longer I will have to be this strong. This is the third time I have had to come back here, and while I want to stress again how much I love my family and will never fully be able to repay them for all the support they have given me--even when I haven't always deserved it--I do lose a lot of myself being here. And that's another thing I am fighting. Again, I can take it. But it's hard. And it's exhausting. I guess maybe I just want SOMETHING to feel comfortable about this.
I'd give anything to be out with the people I care about tonight. It's been so long since I've been genuinely excited to do something without being terrified of being in a social setting. And now that I finally have those feelings back, I can't take action. It seems kind of cruel.
I started crying a lot earlier. I had to listen to the same two or three songs that have been helping me through this. I desperately want to talk to someone in person. As much as all of this hurts, I know why I am here. I know what I need to do. This is only a small part of my life. Everything will be okay. I won't give up. I will not let any of this bring me down. I have so many reasons to work for the things I want. I am learning what really being strong for yourself and the person you love means. I'm definitely not in an ideal situation, but I need to make the best of where I am and try to achieve my goals. If I can get closer to them here, than I know I can make it anywhere. I won't be broken this easily. This will all be worth it soon enough. Love is so much more powerful and motivating than I ever thought it could be, in all of its forms. I need to remind myself of this constantly.
I won't give up.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Time Dilation
I smiled about us more than I cried today. Even so, it feels like I have been here for a month already, though it's really been four days. It's hard not to feel lonely here when pretty much all of my friends are back in Pittsburgh. I see pictures and posts every day that help me feel a little more connected to them in some ways, but in other ways, they make me feel even further away.
I applied to probably sixty or seventy more jobs today just in case the home healthcare agency doesn't call me back for a second interview next week. I'm not particularly concerned with what the job is at this point. I just need something to keep myself occupied and start bringing in money to get life crap sorted out.
I didn't do much else today except work out. I was thinking of going back to the gym for a leg workout tonight, but I think my back still needs a little TLC. It's frustrating to me, but I would rather not experience what I did a few months ago. If this doesn't get better by Monday, though, it's back to the doctor for me. I'm trying to avoid surgery at all costs.
It's still hard to be alone at night, when you want to be cuddled up close to the person you love. I think I might not make it very much longer without crying, but that's okay. The crying means I still care enough to be hurt. Fortunately, I still care enough to make the effort too.
I guess I really didn't have much to say after all. Some nights aren't that great for words.
It's still way too quiet here.
I applied to probably sixty or seventy more jobs today just in case the home healthcare agency doesn't call me back for a second interview next week. I'm not particularly concerned with what the job is at this point. I just need something to keep myself occupied and start bringing in money to get life crap sorted out.
I didn't do much else today except work out. I was thinking of going back to the gym for a leg workout tonight, but I think my back still needs a little TLC. It's frustrating to me, but I would rather not experience what I did a few months ago. If this doesn't get better by Monday, though, it's back to the doctor for me. I'm trying to avoid surgery at all costs.
It's still hard to be alone at night, when you want to be cuddled up close to the person you love. I think I might not make it very much longer without crying, but that's okay. The crying means I still care enough to be hurt. Fortunately, I still care enough to make the effort too.
I guess I really didn't have much to say after all. Some nights aren't that great for words.
It's still way too quiet here.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
A Different Response
Today happened, and sometimes, that's as much as I can say. I still feel empty a lot of the time, but that doesn't prevent me from doing what I need to do in order to better myself and my circumstances. I learned that today when I encountered a pretty frustrating situation at my intake appointment.
My appointment was scheduled for 1:00 PM, but I didn't speak with anyone until 2:00 PM. The PA in charge of my intake session was not exactly helpful, and by that, I mean that he explained nothing whatsoever of the services they offered, didn't ask questions about my situation, and seemed to stop listening the moment I mentioned I wasn't interested in pursuing medication options at this time. From my past experience, intake sessions generally last well over an hour, as the interviewers typically try to gauge your needs and match you with an appropriate provider or program. I wasn't even in that man's office ten minutes before he sent me down the hall to someone else to fill out a pile of forms. I was extremely uncomfortable, but halfway through signing things, I had had enough. I stopped the woman in charge of working on my file "update", which was actually not what was supposed to be happening at all since I had never been there before. I told her that I was feeling pretty uncomfortable with signing forms and being pushed through the process without being offered any explanations or options and without discussing a plan for care. She apologized, which is when she realized that I had been sent to the wrong place, and we eventually got together with the woman who was assigned to be my therapist. Because I had chosen this route, I was able to get an appointment much sooner. Had I not said anything, my first session would not have been until September. The plan is to meet that day and discuss further treatment options. In addition to all of this chaos, the delay caused me to be late to an interview I had scheduled for 2:45 PM. I simply called ahead, had my mom bring my suit, changed in the car, and went about the interview without a problem.
Two weeks ago, I never would have been able to do any of these things. My day would have been ruined, and I would have blindly followed the instructions of people I knew weren't doing their jobs appropriately. I wouldn't have been able to compose myself enough to tackle an interview. I wouldn't have even been able to summon up the courage to make the phone call saying I was going to be late. I'm nearly crying now realizing that things really are changing. I am myself again, and I am getting better at being that every day. Part of me is so happy about this. The other part is in so much pain because it realizes that, no matter how much progress I make in a short amount of time, I cannot simply return to the life I had before when I feel better. It will take time for the hurt and fear I have caused to be resolved. It will take time, and that is so hard to handle right now. I miss him all the time. I am happy with the person I am becoming. I am not depressed about my life. I feel confident and capable. But I can't shake that feeling of emptiness. Because I love him--because we really do love each other--this isn't the kind of thing that is going to stop hurting until we are finally both okay enough to reunite. Managing these feelings of pain and loneliness is the most difficult part of this by far. Everything else is coming back to me. Living with purpose is apparently a lot like riding a bike. You never really forget how to love yourself.
The only thing I can do is work on myself and allow time to heal these wounds. I know I am ready, but it will take time for others to believe in me as much as I do. It will take time for that trust to be rebuilt. And it will take time for him to get where he needs to be as well. And that's something I didn't think much about until we talked earlier tonight. I always thought he was doing alright, maybe because I was doing so poorly in comparison. But, in reality, we were both living co-dependently. We weren't functioning well as individuals. Hearing him admit that he was having some problems too helped me to realize that I am not to blame for everything that happens. I'm just so glad that he is going to be focusing on himself now too. And being able to be there for one another, even this far apart, is going to be so important.
It's getting to be that time of night where I feel the pain more intensely than at any other time. I've been trying to get in touch with some old friends from the area, but people are pretty busy these days, and others just haven't responded at all or will be partaking in activities that aren't in my best interests right now. I may be a little more on my own than I imagined, and that is hard too. But I have to stay focused even when loneliness tries to overwhelm me. I am here for a reason, and I won't let anything else get in the way anymore. This is so important to me. This is the most important time in my life and the most critical thing I have ever undertaken, for so many reasons. This is the start of something so much bigger and better, and once we are able to be confident in our own lives, the rest will fall into place. I'm pretty impatient, but I am learning to handle that too. I am learning to accept that this is the way that this must be done. I will keep believing, even when it feels impossible. I won't give up.
My appointment was scheduled for 1:00 PM, but I didn't speak with anyone until 2:00 PM. The PA in charge of my intake session was not exactly helpful, and by that, I mean that he explained nothing whatsoever of the services they offered, didn't ask questions about my situation, and seemed to stop listening the moment I mentioned I wasn't interested in pursuing medication options at this time. From my past experience, intake sessions generally last well over an hour, as the interviewers typically try to gauge your needs and match you with an appropriate provider or program. I wasn't even in that man's office ten minutes before he sent me down the hall to someone else to fill out a pile of forms. I was extremely uncomfortable, but halfway through signing things, I had had enough. I stopped the woman in charge of working on my file "update", which was actually not what was supposed to be happening at all since I had never been there before. I told her that I was feeling pretty uncomfortable with signing forms and being pushed through the process without being offered any explanations or options and without discussing a plan for care. She apologized, which is when she realized that I had been sent to the wrong place, and we eventually got together with the woman who was assigned to be my therapist. Because I had chosen this route, I was able to get an appointment much sooner. Had I not said anything, my first session would not have been until September. The plan is to meet that day and discuss further treatment options. In addition to all of this chaos, the delay caused me to be late to an interview I had scheduled for 2:45 PM. I simply called ahead, had my mom bring my suit, changed in the car, and went about the interview without a problem.
Two weeks ago, I never would have been able to do any of these things. My day would have been ruined, and I would have blindly followed the instructions of people I knew weren't doing their jobs appropriately. I wouldn't have been able to compose myself enough to tackle an interview. I wouldn't have even been able to summon up the courage to make the phone call saying I was going to be late. I'm nearly crying now realizing that things really are changing. I am myself again, and I am getting better at being that every day. Part of me is so happy about this. The other part is in so much pain because it realizes that, no matter how much progress I make in a short amount of time, I cannot simply return to the life I had before when I feel better. It will take time for the hurt and fear I have caused to be resolved. It will take time, and that is so hard to handle right now. I miss him all the time. I am happy with the person I am becoming. I am not depressed about my life. I feel confident and capable. But I can't shake that feeling of emptiness. Because I love him--because we really do love each other--this isn't the kind of thing that is going to stop hurting until we are finally both okay enough to reunite. Managing these feelings of pain and loneliness is the most difficult part of this by far. Everything else is coming back to me. Living with purpose is apparently a lot like riding a bike. You never really forget how to love yourself.
The only thing I can do is work on myself and allow time to heal these wounds. I know I am ready, but it will take time for others to believe in me as much as I do. It will take time for that trust to be rebuilt. And it will take time for him to get where he needs to be as well. And that's something I didn't think much about until we talked earlier tonight. I always thought he was doing alright, maybe because I was doing so poorly in comparison. But, in reality, we were both living co-dependently. We weren't functioning well as individuals. Hearing him admit that he was having some problems too helped me to realize that I am not to blame for everything that happens. I'm just so glad that he is going to be focusing on himself now too. And being able to be there for one another, even this far apart, is going to be so important.
It's getting to be that time of night where I feel the pain more intensely than at any other time. I've been trying to get in touch with some old friends from the area, but people are pretty busy these days, and others just haven't responded at all or will be partaking in activities that aren't in my best interests right now. I may be a little more on my own than I imagined, and that is hard too. But I have to stay focused even when loneliness tries to overwhelm me. I am here for a reason, and I won't let anything else get in the way anymore. This is so important to me. This is the most important time in my life and the most critical thing I have ever undertaken, for so many reasons. This is the start of something so much bigger and better, and once we are able to be confident in our own lives, the rest will fall into place. I'm pretty impatient, but I am learning to handle that too. I am learning to accept that this is the way that this must be done. I will keep believing, even when it feels impossible. I won't give up.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Between Then and Now
It hasn't even been a full two weeks, but I have like months have gone by given how much different everything seems, within my own mind and without. I left the hospital on Sunday wearing the same shorts I had been the night everything happened, though they did get washed once during that period of time, thank God. I remember being in such a daze walking outdoors for the first time in more than a week. I don't think I was really able to feel anything at that point. The car ride back to Lawrenceville was longer than I expected it to be. Whether that had more to do with our hitting every red light between McKeesport and the city or the time dilation caused by severe emotional experiences, I can't be certain.
My parents got out of the car, and I expected to sit there while they gathered what they could of my belongings. I was about to start crying because I heard my puppy barking all the way inside the house, but before a single tear could fall, my mother told me to come outside. I didn't know what to do at first. I stepped out cautiously, terrified to move too suddenly. We were about ten feet from one another, but in those first few seconds, the distance seemed much greater. Then he spoke. He told me, "It's okay," but it took more than once for me to understand what was actually going on. We hugged for a long time, but not long enough for me. In that moment, I never wanted to let go. It took everything not to fall to the ground crying. I feel like that's the moment everything really changed inside me. I almost cried when not an hour later I was able to make him hunch over with laughter. It felt so good to hear that again.
Things were a lot clearer a few days ago than they are now. I'm struggling with putting all the events of the past few days together in a coherent, concise way. Even if things are a bit fragmented, it's important that I at least make this effort.
We tried to delay leaving as long as possibly, probably not consciously. It felt like there were so many things that simultaneously needed to be said and never had to . The dogs nearly all fell over when they finally saw me. Apparently, Bam-Bam had escaped three times trying to find me over that week.
The house seemed the same but somehow not at all. It felt further away from me too, as a physical place. But I could still sense the pain and fear that I caused. It was hard to look at the place I had learned to call home, knowing that it could never be that for me again. It was also very hard to look at a casserole dish full of rhinestones that had been mixed together. He stopped to pull out several pieces of broken glass before setting the tray back down. We hugged so many more times. And it was harder and harder to let go each time.
I didn't want to say this at all, but maybe it is important that I do. The thing that hurt most about the whole encounter was seeing him without his ring. I know he noticed that I was still wearing mine. I'm not sure what he thought about that, and perhaps I'll never know.
"I love you. And I am not angry. I don't blame you for anything that happened." Those were the words that started a conversation that has been going on for days, most of the time not needing any words at all to keep it going. Those words and countless instances of both of us repeating "it's okay" to one another. And I still have to tell myself that every day.
I had such a hard time sleeping Sunday night. I couldn't think about anything else, so I started typing up the letters I had been writing to him in the hospital, which were half letter and half journal entry, give or take a few percentage points. They were long, and in addition to helping me feel deeply connected, they reminded me of why I needed to be where I am now. They reminded me that I needed to view this as a positive step forward for both of us.
It was around four in the morning when I got out of bed, after lying there for several hours with Comedy Central on in the background. I grabbed my phone to listen to a song that hadn't left my mind all week, and I noticed I had gotten a response to my message about 25 minutes previous to that. I opened up the message and found screenshots of the lyrics to the song I was just about to listen to, and I collapsed into my bed again. There were a few more messages shared that night, but it still took me so long to fall asleep. It was well past light outside before my body finally gave in.
Yesterday was my first full day back here, and I spent most of it distracting myself with applying for jobs. I listened to music and continued to cry when I wasn't doing that. We FaceTimed for about half an hour, and the image was so clear that I felt like I was right there with him. I'm not sure whether that made it easier or harder to handle. Several times during the conversation, I broke down. I saw how tired he looked. I saw how much this has been hurting him too. I asked if he were going to talk to someone as well, and it made me happy to hear when he answered in the affirmative. We were able to laugh at times. But we both seemed to look at each other knowing that things were going to get a lot harder before getting easier. But I also saw in his face the willingness to believe in the power of love to survive anything. And I have never before found another person with that much faith or strength. I cried for a little while after we finally hung up, after we both realized that we needed to get out and do things before we got stuck in bed all night just thinking and crying. After I got up, I listened to music and continued to write.
My efforts yesterday seemed to pay off today when I woke up to four phone calls about job opportunities. I had to decline one of them because there is no way for me to make the hour commute each way on my own. I have another interview tomorrow, and I am waiting for the other two to continue playing phone tag with me. I also have my intake appointment at CCS tomorrow, the agency for which I used to work during the 2013/2014 school year. I had an easier time keeping myself busy today. I went to a tabata boot camp workout this evening, and though my back started to bother me because I haven't done anything with it in almost two weeks, I was able to push through about 75% of it. I know I will be fine in a few days. I'm planning on getting a chest/upper back workout in tonight as well. It actually felt good to be around the old studio again. I smiled and laughed with people for the first time in almost two weeks. They made me feel like everything was going to be okay--like I was in the right place for the time being. That feeling has been hard to maintain since leaving the studio a few hours ago, but I'll hopefully get a chance to renew it when I go back tomorrow night.
It's dark now, and my head hurts from all the crying I've done today too. But I believe in myself. I believe in us. And my faith in so many things has been restored. I feel like the same person that moved out to Pittsburgh last spring. I feel like the fog has been lifted. I feel like I have a sense of purpose again. I feel ambitious and hopeful. I am determined. And I am able to control the negative thoughts that creep in on me throughout the day. I am able to take action when I need to in order to prevent myself from spiraling downward. I feel like I'm finally in the driver's seat again. I'm medication-free for the first time in nearly a year, and I feel more like myself than I have in nearly just as long.
I could tell things were finally going right again when I got out of bed, looked at my phone, took a few minutes to compose myself, and immediately called all four potential employers back. I didn't think about how scared I was. I didn't get overwhelmed. I just did what I needed to do. I fell back into bed to cry a few times today, but I didn't hang out there and dwell on my misery. I forced myself to keep moving. I reminded myself again of why I am here. I reminded myself why this is so important. And though it hasn't been easy, I have been surviving. I have been doing things for myself, and I even cleaned our whole kitchen because I just couldn't take shit being EVERYWHERE in a place that I would be calling my home for the next however-long. (This isn't a typical thing here, but we just got our hot water fixed today, and my mother has a thing about doing dishes if the water is not scalding hot.)
I'm not always okay. Being apart is painful, and it will keep being painful. But I have a responsibility to take care of myself. Part of being a functional adult is learning how to deal with pain and delay gratification, learning how to acknowledge and feel the pain without letting it break you or take control of your every behavior. And I think I've been doing pretty well with that. I'm excited to see just how much more I really am able to handle in the coming weeks. I am so ready to be myself again. I AM being myself again. I just wish more people were able to see that in action. They will, in time. Right now, I'm just really proud of myself.
I am proud of myself for being able to make the decision to go back to the hospital on my own. I am proud of myself for making the decision to come back to Larksville to deal with my mental health needs. I am proud of myself for making the commitment to see this through no matter what. I'm so proud that I can say I am the kind of person that will never give up. I am so proud to be able to say that I am who I am and that I have been through all that I have. I am proud of my own story, finally and forever. My life is a fucking miracle. I am so lucky to be right where I am, to have all that I do, and to be loved the way that I am. I will not take this opportunity for granted. I will not waste my time in making sure that I will be prepared to live the rest of my life the way I want to live it. And I will never be ashamed of having to step backwards in order to take care of myself.
Sometimes it takes hitting the absolute bottom for you to realize how insignificant your previous pain is in comparison. Sometimes it takes getting to that point in order for you to realize what others have been telling you all along. Everything seems to have clicked recently. And I am running with it. I'm not afraid. That's not always true, but the key is that I am able to act in spite of my fear. I am not an easy person to break. This much I have learned.
My parents got out of the car, and I expected to sit there while they gathered what they could of my belongings. I was about to start crying because I heard my puppy barking all the way inside the house, but before a single tear could fall, my mother told me to come outside. I didn't know what to do at first. I stepped out cautiously, terrified to move too suddenly. We were about ten feet from one another, but in those first few seconds, the distance seemed much greater. Then he spoke. He told me, "It's okay," but it took more than once for me to understand what was actually going on. We hugged for a long time, but not long enough for me. In that moment, I never wanted to let go. It took everything not to fall to the ground crying. I feel like that's the moment everything really changed inside me. I almost cried when not an hour later I was able to make him hunch over with laughter. It felt so good to hear that again.
Things were a lot clearer a few days ago than they are now. I'm struggling with putting all the events of the past few days together in a coherent, concise way. Even if things are a bit fragmented, it's important that I at least make this effort.
We tried to delay leaving as long as possibly, probably not consciously. It felt like there were so many things that simultaneously needed to be said and never had to . The dogs nearly all fell over when they finally saw me. Apparently, Bam-Bam had escaped three times trying to find me over that week.
The house seemed the same but somehow not at all. It felt further away from me too, as a physical place. But I could still sense the pain and fear that I caused. It was hard to look at the place I had learned to call home, knowing that it could never be that for me again. It was also very hard to look at a casserole dish full of rhinestones that had been mixed together. He stopped to pull out several pieces of broken glass before setting the tray back down. We hugged so many more times. And it was harder and harder to let go each time.
I didn't want to say this at all, but maybe it is important that I do. The thing that hurt most about the whole encounter was seeing him without his ring. I know he noticed that I was still wearing mine. I'm not sure what he thought about that, and perhaps I'll never know.
"I love you. And I am not angry. I don't blame you for anything that happened." Those were the words that started a conversation that has been going on for days, most of the time not needing any words at all to keep it going. Those words and countless instances of both of us repeating "it's okay" to one another. And I still have to tell myself that every day.
I had such a hard time sleeping Sunday night. I couldn't think about anything else, so I started typing up the letters I had been writing to him in the hospital, which were half letter and half journal entry, give or take a few percentage points. They were long, and in addition to helping me feel deeply connected, they reminded me of why I needed to be where I am now. They reminded me that I needed to view this as a positive step forward for both of us.
It was around four in the morning when I got out of bed, after lying there for several hours with Comedy Central on in the background. I grabbed my phone to listen to a song that hadn't left my mind all week, and I noticed I had gotten a response to my message about 25 minutes previous to that. I opened up the message and found screenshots of the lyrics to the song I was just about to listen to, and I collapsed into my bed again. There were a few more messages shared that night, but it still took me so long to fall asleep. It was well past light outside before my body finally gave in.
Yesterday was my first full day back here, and I spent most of it distracting myself with applying for jobs. I listened to music and continued to cry when I wasn't doing that. We FaceTimed for about half an hour, and the image was so clear that I felt like I was right there with him. I'm not sure whether that made it easier or harder to handle. Several times during the conversation, I broke down. I saw how tired he looked. I saw how much this has been hurting him too. I asked if he were going to talk to someone as well, and it made me happy to hear when he answered in the affirmative. We were able to laugh at times. But we both seemed to look at each other knowing that things were going to get a lot harder before getting easier. But I also saw in his face the willingness to believe in the power of love to survive anything. And I have never before found another person with that much faith or strength. I cried for a little while after we finally hung up, after we both realized that we needed to get out and do things before we got stuck in bed all night just thinking and crying. After I got up, I listened to music and continued to write.
My efforts yesterday seemed to pay off today when I woke up to four phone calls about job opportunities. I had to decline one of them because there is no way for me to make the hour commute each way on my own. I have another interview tomorrow, and I am waiting for the other two to continue playing phone tag with me. I also have my intake appointment at CCS tomorrow, the agency for which I used to work during the 2013/2014 school year. I had an easier time keeping myself busy today. I went to a tabata boot camp workout this evening, and though my back started to bother me because I haven't done anything with it in almost two weeks, I was able to push through about 75% of it. I know I will be fine in a few days. I'm planning on getting a chest/upper back workout in tonight as well. It actually felt good to be around the old studio again. I smiled and laughed with people for the first time in almost two weeks. They made me feel like everything was going to be okay--like I was in the right place for the time being. That feeling has been hard to maintain since leaving the studio a few hours ago, but I'll hopefully get a chance to renew it when I go back tomorrow night.
It's dark now, and my head hurts from all the crying I've done today too. But I believe in myself. I believe in us. And my faith in so many things has been restored. I feel like the same person that moved out to Pittsburgh last spring. I feel like the fog has been lifted. I feel like I have a sense of purpose again. I feel ambitious and hopeful. I am determined. And I am able to control the negative thoughts that creep in on me throughout the day. I am able to take action when I need to in order to prevent myself from spiraling downward. I feel like I'm finally in the driver's seat again. I'm medication-free for the first time in nearly a year, and I feel more like myself than I have in nearly just as long.
I could tell things were finally going right again when I got out of bed, looked at my phone, took a few minutes to compose myself, and immediately called all four potential employers back. I didn't think about how scared I was. I didn't get overwhelmed. I just did what I needed to do. I fell back into bed to cry a few times today, but I didn't hang out there and dwell on my misery. I forced myself to keep moving. I reminded myself again of why I am here. I reminded myself why this is so important. And though it hasn't been easy, I have been surviving. I have been doing things for myself, and I even cleaned our whole kitchen because I just couldn't take shit being EVERYWHERE in a place that I would be calling my home for the next however-long. (This isn't a typical thing here, but we just got our hot water fixed today, and my mother has a thing about doing dishes if the water is not scalding hot.)
I'm not always okay. Being apart is painful, and it will keep being painful. But I have a responsibility to take care of myself. Part of being a functional adult is learning how to deal with pain and delay gratification, learning how to acknowledge and feel the pain without letting it break you or take control of your every behavior. And I think I've been doing pretty well with that. I'm excited to see just how much more I really am able to handle in the coming weeks. I am so ready to be myself again. I AM being myself again. I just wish more people were able to see that in action. They will, in time. Right now, I'm just really proud of myself.
I am proud of myself for being able to make the decision to go back to the hospital on my own. I am proud of myself for making the decision to come back to Larksville to deal with my mental health needs. I am proud of myself for making the commitment to see this through no matter what. I'm so proud that I can say I am the kind of person that will never give up. I am so proud to be able to say that I am who I am and that I have been through all that I have. I am proud of my own story, finally and forever. My life is a fucking miracle. I am so lucky to be right where I am, to have all that I do, and to be loved the way that I am. I will not take this opportunity for granted. I will not waste my time in making sure that I will be prepared to live the rest of my life the way I want to live it. And I will never be ashamed of having to step backwards in order to take care of myself.
Sometimes it takes hitting the absolute bottom for you to realize how insignificant your previous pain is in comparison. Sometimes it takes getting to that point in order for you to realize what others have been telling you all along. Everything seems to have clicked recently. And I am running with it. I'm not afraid. That's not always true, but the key is that I am able to act in spite of my fear. I am not an easy person to break. This much I have learned.
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