Fault Lines

It is interesting to me that we are beings of constant change and growth and yet sometimes it feels there is very little that is different from year to year.  Does that make sense at all?  Sometimes transformation seems protected - a caterpillar in a cocoon; other times it is jarring - tectonic plates scraping along fault lines.  

I am, once again, in a situation in which my job is in jeopardy.  And once again, it is an arbitrary thing thought up by 'corporate' that I have to butt against and hope for mercy of some sort.  If I were not so careless these things would not keep happening.  I know that.  Last month a friend stated that I seemed "surprised" by the consequences of my actions.  I'm not, really.  I'm more surprised at the things that turn out to be more important than I thought.  I am surprised when my success or failure rests on something other than whether I am doing my job, let alone doing it well.

I am, six or so months after my last post, no closer to bliss.  My house is not in any better order than it has been, I did have a savings account briefly, but that has been wiped clean to fix a random act of vandalism.  There have been, in fact, several very unlucky things that have happened recently, and my only option seems to be wait and see.

I hate wait and see.

I also have a half-failed relationship smouldering behind me.  I say "half-failed" because the smoke has not yet cleared, and there may be good news there after all.  Again, it's a wait and see game. 

Hate.

After five years of being unable (unwilling) to look more than a month into the future it was nice to be able to think about what I might want.  When he left I thought he took that with him, but I can still see a  future and I can still see some of the things I want.  I can see how things would be if he does come back, and I can see how things would be if he doesn't.  I will be forever grateful to him for reminding me to face the future head on.  He questioned my fear all the time.  He could not understand why I would hide from something that is completely unavoidable.  I think he understands it a little better these days, but he is still fearless as ever.  I'm trying to be fearless. 

Some of my friends are taking it as a good sign that I put myself out there at all and was even in a position to have a half-failed relationship.  Others view this latest man as another example of how I am spiraling out of control and must be stopped.  My thoughts on the relationship vary, but generally speaking I am leaning toward the fact that it really is a positive step to allow someone to break through my various and impressive  walls.  My friend C says, "That man is not done with you yet; you have got to give him time to clear up his shit."  C is not usually wrong.  She also thinks that relationships tend to end the way they began - and since this one began out of the blue and progressed very quickly so did its end.  This way we get to start over in a way.  If we want to.  You know, once the smoke clears and we are thinking clearly.

We have been able to salvage a friendship of sorts - though some days it seems more like survivors of an accident shivering together under and emergency blanket.

There is impulse in him, but no real malice.  Certainly not toward me.

Plus qui change...

I have a new job now. I'm teaching at a career college and I am so much happier. I am relieved that I made it to this point, relieved that I lasted as long as I did at The Evil Empire. It feels like a bad dream.

I have some experience with bad dreams these days. Two weekends ago I was recuperating from a cold that turned violent and I slept for four days, waking to hydrate and eat noodles. And cry.

The dreams were terrible, not always about Jeff, but always relative. I would wake confused and grieving, gasping for air and sanity. I showered, bracing myself on the walls and try to force air through the congestion and tightness in my chest. Cough so hard I would be sick and then dress in soft, clean clothes and crawl back into bed.

I was afraid to take Xanax along with the cold medicine.

Last weekend I had improved physically, but my emotional progress was on an inverse arc. I woke screaming and covered in sweat early Saturday morning and it took five minutes to get a Xanax down, two hours to stop shaking and regain even minimal control over myself. I don't remember the dream, not really, but I was responsible for keeping him safe. I was responsible for keeping others safe from him. And I failed. Over and over I failed.

Once the dream passed and I could breathe normally, think normally, the question I kept coming back to was, how can I ever share my life with another person if I still wake up screaming? How is that ever going to be fair to someone else? Who would ever forgive the fact that I will always be tied to him, always love him. I will never be able to let him go.

I taught a knitting lesson, had lunch with some friends... I went home and shaved my legs and put clean sheets on the bed. My out-of-town friend was scheduled to visit and if nothing else I needed him there to hold me through whatever time we had together.

And he was comforting to me. Very sweet and he absorbed my grief the way I knew he would. He is my best friend, and in another life we would be amazing together. I asked him the questions that had me awake in the dark hours of the morning. How would I ever be able to share my life with another man? How would this new person feel about the dreams that can't stay quiet?

He said, "Anyone who loves you would understand, and would comfort you in any way you would let him."

He's right.
Anyone who loves me would understand.

I just need to find someone who loves me.

Find Me

My Greek Chorus says I need to drop the person who only gives half in order to find the one who will complete me. If only it could be that simple.

I could write my dreams on tissue paper and burn them, scattering the ashes in the winds of my wild prairie... That would only leave me weeping and covered in black.

I could stand in the produce aisle cradling an eggplant in the palm of my hand, willing love to become fascinated by my fascination with the smooth, tough skin.

Under a full moon I could transform myself into an entirely different woman: pious and quiet in a church or sly and blinking under the weight of my mascara in a bar. But as the moon shifted so would I and the illusions would fail us both.

A lovely friend told me its no use looking at all. He will be deposited in front of me when I least expect it. Which, of course, means I am always expecting it. Scanning left hands in the checkout line, paying special attention to the way strangers gesture and smile.

This is no good. No good at all.

Malaise

I want to be ok.
Some days I really believe I can be ok.
Today is not that day.

Today I feel both small and fat.
Today I feel like I am failing in so many small ways.
Today I feel that I deserve my horrible, soul sucking job.
Today I feel so very alone.

I think this is ok... I think there are just going to be days like this and I'm just going to have to power through this.
I don't have a lot in reserve, so I hope I cycle up soon.

I hope for a lot of things, and hope is exhausting too.

Oops

I've done it again.

Its almost New Year's Eve. I've planned a lovely party with some of my favorite people and my house is a disaster. The dishes have piled in disgusting stacks. Laundry is clean, but not folded, let alone put away (and frankly, there is no room in the closets or drawers). I haven't swept or mopped the floors in longer than I should admit, and the dining room table is covered in empty grocery bags and miscellaneous crap. The cat boxes are disgraceful.

I know that keeping an orderly house is a great thing and that I am capable of many great things. I know that when my house is clean I am happier. I know that I enjoy having friends over.

I just can't seem to keep up with the upkeep.

With a disastrous mess it becomes exhausting to clean completely. We start to cut corners and just hide things in order to be done before the first guest arrives... There is, right this second, a growing pile of clean laundry at the foot of my bed. This pile has been transferred from the living room couch. There is no time to fold everything and put it away because there are no clean dishes, I haven't started the food preparations and it is midnight.

Right now I just want to go to bed and sleep for a long, long time. I want to cancel the party and buy a pint of Ben and Jerry's and crawl into my bed for the weekend.

I also want a lovely evening with good friends and good food.

Of course, after the party we are usually exhausted by the manic cleaning and the party itself. So we won't continue the cleaning.

We will let it slide.

At least, that is our usual routine.

This time I want to try to fix this. I want to be the kind of person whose house is always open to friends. I want to be the kind of person you can call when you're in the neighborhood and who can produce coffee or wine and snacks as needed.

We will keep cleaning.

At noon I will drive an hour each way to pick up my brother and then I will clean some more. And Sunday? I will clean some more. And Monday? I will straighten the rooms in my house and fold laundry.

Maybe next weekend I'll clean out a drawer or two.

Tis the Season

Nine years ago I was falling in love with Jeff.  He was shy and so very surprised that I wanted to spend time with him.  I called him when the first snow fell and we talked on the phone watching the snow fall, thick and juicy flakes.  There was something romantic and lovely about standing in the snow, his voice in my ear.  We watched The Muppet Christmas Carol over the phone too, and then we started spending time together in person.

Eight years ago he proposed on New Year's Eve.  His love for me was so very apparent to anyone who watched him watch me.  I felt that love every day and I trusted it.  I trusted that I would be loved by that man for the rest of my life.  I trusted that I could love him and that he would never leave me.  That I would always come first.

Five years ago we celebrated Christmas in our new home.  It was a sad Christmas; his father died on the 14th and he was immersed in grief and working very hard to take care of his mother.  I believed that we would make it through this time, that together we could get through anything.  I believed our bond would be stronger for the journey.

Four years ago I realized my marriage was irrevocably damaged and a few months later I found out my husband was too  .I did not come first.  And he relied on Vodka to get him through.  His relationship with alcohol was stronger than any relationship we ever could have had.  And the alcohol took him from me on a rainy night in March.

Jeff was the last age appropriate single man I allowed myself to fall for and his death has damaged me in ways I can not deal with all at once.  There are layers of damage as sticky and impossible as the ancient wallpaper we pried from the walls before we moved in.  And I worry that the walls in my heart are as crumbly and delicate as the walls in the dining room.  I no longer trust my heart to rebound.  I no longer believe that I can sustain another break.

Every step I take away from the sadness feels more difficult than the last and I honestly don't know if the movie ends with me in a healthy relationship or not.  I do not trust that anyone will love me the way he did and even he didn't love me enough to stay. 

I know he was sick.  Irrevocably and absolutely sick.  Alcoholic, mentally ill and suffering so very quietly from pancreatitis.  I know that love can not cure these things.  I know that he was very sick even before I fell in love with him...

That's what scares me.

I know there are no guarantees, that anything can and will happen, but I find myself paralyzed by the thought that I could allow myself to be hurt in this way again.  I don't love halfway.  I love all the way or not at all.  Beth used to say I didn't jump off the cliff, I fell backwards with a big smile on my face. Now I'm so afraid I don't even approach the cliff. I stand well away from the edge and develop crushes on boys who will never be interested in me.  It's safer this way.

I want so much to stand on the edge.  To look into the eyes of someone who thinks they will never hurt me.  I want so much to believe them. 

But not this year.

Back to it...

I have not been as committed to any of my goals as I intended to be. I faltered. The difficulty in missing a beat is not the failure, but the ability to hit the next beat and keep going.
I tend to adopt the "oh fuck it then" mindset and drown my sorrows in McDonalds fries.
I'm going to focus on finding the next beat instead. I'm going to re-commit to my goals and I am going to take those baby steps to meet those goals. If I can teach the kids on my caseload to do this I can surely manage it as well!
In other news, Blankie has done well despite my lack of focus in other areas....