Underneath...

I thought I’d take some time today and write about all the things I don’t want to write about but need to get out. There’s all this stuff living under my skin that needs to be exploded out but I can think of 4,000 other things I’d rather be doing. The more I put off my writing, the crazier I eventually get and I don’t feel like going too far down that road.
I keep putting off my journal, this blog and everything pertaining to my mental health, simply because it’s damn hard. It hurts to write and well, I’m in denial that I’m feeling anything short of sparkly right now. People have brought it to my attention. They say they know I’m hurting and they’re there for me. I believe that they’re there, it’s just that I don’t believe I’m hurting. Or really, I don’t want to admit that I am.
So that manifests itself in other ways. I withhold some things I enjoy from myself while overindulging in other things that I also enjoy but aren’t so good for me. Food has been a problem the last couple of weeks. I hate it, but give into it anyways. It’s the temporary relief from whatever it is that is bothering me that I look for when reaching for something when I’m not hungry. Work is slower than I’d like, leaving more time to think, make excuses for certain things while eating my way through my boredom.
Making the sparklies has also distracted me from writing. Instead of getting up and writing at Inman Perk, I get up and put together a new necklace, working until it’s time to get ready to go to the salon. It’s so much easier to sit in my quiet room while the sun is coming up than going out into the world, carrying on conversations with other ‘regulars’ at the coffee shop, pretending everything is fine.
I went for a quick run through Piedmont Park today. I knew better than to go in the middle of the afternoon during a hot summer day but I couldn’t help it. I’m filled with nervous energy and anxiety. It’s quiet in the park. All I can hear is the music playing from my iPOD and my feet striking the pavement. I run past the swing Rob and I sat in the first Sunday we spent together. We were holding hands watching the sky turn gray, my knees drawn up to my chest while his feet pushed the swing back and forth. It was so easy to sit there and talk to him. We both unloaded all kinds of things on each other. Maybe it was easier to talk about hard stuff because we weren’t facing each other but knew the other one was listening intently. I remember turning my head, resting my chin on his shoulder, and inhaling his delicious, clean laundry smelling self and smiling while he talked.
I still feel a bit of anger is lingering, waiting to come out again at some point. I said I wasn’t angry at Rob but maybe there’s a piece of me that is. Yeah. I’m angry that I felt he was in such a hurry to leave the morning he died when I was trying so hard to just be with him. Trying to get him to sit still and realize there was no emergency for him to go running off to. I’m angry he put that key in the ignition… leaving all of us.
On the flip side though, and this is the side that completely extinguishes the bubbling anger… April 20th was a beautiful day. Perfect temperature, big fluffy clouds. I got to wake up that morning knowing he was right there, got to touch him, kiss him, and tell him I loved him. He died doing what he loved most. I’m guessing most people who have left the Earth were not doing what they loved most on the day they died.
The anger in general terrifies me. I hate saying I’m angry with him. Afraid that wherever he is, he won’t love me anymore. It’s the one emotion I’m most scared of experiencing and the one I have the most of. I squash it down, trying not to let it happen when I feel it towards other people, somehow thinking they’ll no longer be there, no longer wanting anything to do with me. I was angry with Rob for leaving so early that morning, and he died. I don’t believe he died because I was angry, it’s just… it keeps me from ever wanting to feel that way towards anyone ever again.
Of course that’s unrealistic and crazy…
I’m still craving a physical connection with another human. I will never find a replacement for Rob. It’s just that everything happened so fast. There was this really intense relationship then nothing at all. One day I’ll be able to write more about this, but it’s really confusing and hard to identify what it feels like to want to indulge this part of the madness. I didn’t think I’d even look at another human that way for a long time but I’m right in the middle of it. I don’t want anything to do with a random person though. I’m quite scared of being completely vulnerable again.
It feels everything is scary right now. I’m not always sure where to turn or where to go. How do I describe what it feels like to want to be completely anonymous but wrapped up in someone’s love all at the same time? How do I ‘sit with’ my grief and not overindulge in delicious things that eventually will be the end of me? How do I ask God for help when He took Rob? I think I have too many questions but how can I not? I don’t understand anything. I don’t understand why any of this happened, why I met Rob, why everything was so intense, why he got 26 years on the Earth when other people got several decades, why I feel like a crazy person, why I’m pissed off, why I feel like I have to have answer for everything when maybe I don’t.

Sparklies...

I splashed through the puddles while rain poured down on me, making my way to the front door of my house. Once inside there is a fat brown package with my name on it waiting on the table. EEEK! Sparklies! These are from my favorite sender. Still weighed down with my work bag, I snatch up the package and hobble through my living room while tearing it open.
Yay! While I enjoy doing lots of things, haircutting, writing, running etc… few things have made me this crazy happy in my life. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around how all this got started. I remember something telling me to visit a website I used to frequent. While perusing through all the pretty pages I thought about a client who made a necklace for me. I get compliments on it everywhere I go. I like her style but I wanted to do something different.
That memory is so vague that I re-visit it a lot just checking to see if it’s real. I still wonder what it was that made me type in that web address. In no time at all I’m putting together my own page to add to the site.
I toss my work stuff on the couch and go to my room with a hand stuffed in the package, pulling everything out before I get to the table that I’ve set up for working on all this. Once seated, with the lamp on, I pour everything out and immediately start sorting all the colors. I’m a freak about sorting. I remember learning it in third grade and I’ve loved it ever since.
I save the dark purple pieces for last. I ordered those for my co-worker, Kristen. She asked me to make her a necklace a couple of weeks ago. I glance over my collection on chain and pull a dark style out that I haven’t used before. I lay it over a board to make sure it doesn’t move. I add another piece of chain to it, to make it look layered. My fingers move at the speed of light, putting things to together, taking them apart, stopping to take it all in, wondering if I should make it lighter or darker. I add black flowers to match her hair and tiny little blue ones to match her eyes. Purple beads are spread through out and I finally finish with adding some dark olive green flowers.
Once everything is all laid out I have to actually put it together. My eyes are feeling heavy but I really want to finish this. I twist and wrap wire around each bead, flower and charm then start attaching them to the chain. Over and over I make trips to the mirror with it around my neck, investigating the balance. I finally start taking my pliers with me on these mirror trips, making adjustments while wearing it. Once satisfied I take it off and place it into a little pink box. For whatever reason I imagine her wearing something tomorrow that will match it perfectly.
The next morning I look over the necklace again to make sure I still like it. Yup!
I give Kristen the necklace in between clients. She’s wearing a top that matches it and seeing her face light up when she opens the box makes my entire day.
“It’s so perfect!” she exclaims, putting it around her neck. “I love it!”
“Yay! I’m glad!” I laugh. Looking at her with it on makes me feel proud of myself in a way I’ve never experienced before.
I didn’t tell her that I wanted to keep it when I completed it. It reminds me of her. Everything I’ve made has been dreamed up from a memory I’ve had, a person I’ve met, a thought or feeling so I grow extremely attached to each piece. For once, I’m immersed in the process of creating something and I’m not psycho critical of myself like I am with writing, drawing, painting, or cutting hair. I get completely lost in it, letting it go in whatever direction it’s going to go in. I’m not sure how to let go of the control issue when it comes to everything else creative. I guess it’s one day at a time though right?

OA...

“Hi! I’m Melissa and I’m a compulsive overeater.” I said before reading the “Invitation to OA” at the beginning of the Overeaters Anonymous meeting. It’s still the most sobering sentence I’ve ever said in my life. I haven’t made that statement since Rob died. I woke up this morning thinking it was time to get back to meetings.
In these four walls, I don’t think about anything else but what is being shared by other OA members. Everything else falls away. I’m confident enough to read aloud whatever is asked of me but I’m one of two people who doesn’t share anything. I’m on the verge of tears the whole time as usual. This time is for different reasons.
The Monday and Friday night meetings are my favorite. I decided to go to the Monday afternoon meeting today because it’s smaller, plus I wanted to make a necklace tonight which could technically be me making excuses not to go.
My sponsor has told me that we’re going to go through the 12 Steps again which for whatever reason is terrifying to me. The first time I did it, I was finishing it up when I met Rob. I now have to do it again through this grief madness and I’m trying to be up for it, to learn some more, to grow some more but it’s all rather scary. It feels crazy to even say that. Why is it that experiencing certain feelings creates such fear? I know good and well as soon as I experience something, it’ll come and go and not be here forever, but I’d much rather eat a cookie and not think about it.
I’m calmly elated when I leave the meeting. It felt so good to see familiar faces, and hear the familiar voices and they’re experiences being shared. Sometimes I wonder why I wait so long to go.
I spend the rest of the day at the theater, going for a long walk, catching my journal up and making a necklace. I’m quite pleased with what I come up with and fall into bed. Today felt like a much needed vacation.

Ninety...

“It’s July 20th.” I think to myself as I get out of bed and make breakfast. It’s been three months since Rob’s accident and it still doesn’t seem real. I pour a glass of water while looking at the two wine glasses that are still on the counter next to the sink. They’re the only items I haven’t moved yet from when he was still here.
After getting caffinated I go for a run through Freedom Park with various people singing in my ears through my iPOD. The Saving Abel song I heard the day of Rob’s funeral, “Beautiful Day” comes on and the tears come immediately. It’s too hard to run and cry so I stop to walk instead of stopping the tears. The word’s “Rob” and “funeral” shouldn’t be in the same sentence.
I eventually make it home, get cleaned up and race to mom and dad’s. My aunt has dropped off Rob’s cell phone for me to take to his mom today. I’m going to her friend Diane’s house to make the sparklies while they scrapbook.
I run around mom and dad’s, returning a few things I ran off with last week, including a huge extension cord. I know the phone is waiting for me on the deck outside but I don’t want to let go of the extension cord just yet. I let their dog Gus, out, gather some of my mail that is still being delivered to them, then drop the cord off in the basement.
Back upstairs, I go outside, and pick up Rob’s phone from the chair it was left in and let Gus back in. The phone was placed in a plastic Zipoc bag with a note to Rob’s mom. I take the phone out and examine it, turning it over in my hands. I don’t think I’ve ever held it before. Well, there was one time… he was in the shower and I placed a small card, the size of a business card inside it. The card said “I love you” in small print across the front of it. I remember finding the card later on his nightstand with movie ticket stubs when we went to move his things out of his apartment in Anderson.
I turn the phone on and notice it has a low battery. I remember finding the charger in Anderson as well and I think I gave it to Kate but I don’t remember. I quickly turn it off, grab my keys and head to Diane’s.
All my stress and craziness melts away upon entering her door. It reminds me of how I felt when I knew Rob was at my door. I’ve waited all week to see them, relax and not think about anything else except what my hands are doing.
There are lots of hugs, hellos, and how are ya’s when I walk inside. We talk, eat lunch, talk some more, and start setting up to work on our various projects.
“Melissa, I have Randy’s scrapbook out over there, if you want to take a look at it.” Judy tells me. Her brother died in 2003 and she’s been collecting memories and writing short stories about him for a while now.
“Of course!” I sit down at the table and open the dark green book, smiling at the pictures, stopping to re-read some of the stories again. I turn the pages and stop at one in particular of Judy when she was really young. Her face is turned over her shoulder, looking at the camera and her expression takes my breath away. Her smiles lights up the entire picture exactly like Rob‘s. Tears sting my eyes but I can’t stop looking at her. I eventually turn the pages. Towards the end there’s another picture of her when she’s a little older, wearing that same bright smile. I love looking at her because it’s almost like looking at him again, even now. There was a brief moment after Rob died that I entertained the idea of “what if I were pregnant?” I imagined having a bright little, mischievous boy with straight brown hair and a warm smile that matched his father’s. He’d be my little piece of Rob to carry with me always.
Eventually I get started on a new necklace. We’re all rather quiet as we get sucked into our various projects. As my fingertips turn gray from wrapping wire around flower beads I imagine Rob working outside with Diane’s husband Gary. I then think that we wouldn’t be here together if Rob were still alive. We’d be at his parent’s, picking up Jake, driving back to Atlanta, maybe going to Atkins Park for dinner and going to sleep. His alarm would wake him up at 3 am and he’d get ready for work, stopping just before it was time to go, lean over me, kiss me, tell me he loves me and leave. I’d wake up later on Monday morning, not wanting to open my eyes, knowing he wasn’t there, but getting up anyways, later receiving a text message from him while getting coffee.
We leave Diane’s around six. I think while I’m packing up my car again that in his death, Rob brought me so many amazing people to share my life with. It is no replacement for him but if anything good can come out of something that hurts so much it’s these fabulous people whose lives he touched and vice versa.

Grr...

The sweet little nagging voice in my head is bugging me to write. Like a defiant toddler, I tell it ‘no’, and find 4,000 other things to do. Writing is scary. I’m still terrified of putting everything out there, of being judged, or criticized, but the learning process of getting over that is too great to stop now. Plus the other scary part is I never know what might come up so I put it aside and let things build up until it all explodes. I hope the explosion happens on paper but sometimes that’s not the case. I’m feel like a time bomb, still in my partially isolated funk and don’t need to be around people.
The anger part of grief is no joke. I thought somehow I could skirt around it. I knew it would happen and because I knew it I thought I would be aware of it and control it. Not so much. It snuck up on me and picked at me in tiny little exasperated moments. I tried to brush it off, make excuses but it’s still there like an unwelcome visitor sitting on my couch, standing next to me at work, riding along with me in my car, interrupting my thoughts, and keeping me from doing anything productive.
I am not angry at God, at Rob or at anyone. I don’t understand it exactly. I’ve never been mad for no reason. I’ve chosen to take it out on myself, telling myself that I can’t write, I have nothing to say, I can’t make the sparklies, they’re not pretty, I can’t cut hair, what the fuck am I doing to my client, and so on.
One of my co-workers pointed out that right when Rob died I was doing a good job speaking up and talking a lot but now I’ve been really quiet lately. I know it but not only do I have nothing nice to say right now, I not really sure what it is I need to say. All week I’ve cried and cried, desperate to talk to someone but every time I think of picking up the phone, I freeze, not knowing what to say once I hear a familiar “hello?” on the other end.
Another friend pointed out that creative people get really bent out of shape when they can’t create or get stuck in something. I think that’s part of it too. I haven’t been able to find words to communicate what’s in my head. It seems everything come out wrong.
I feel like I need the Earth to stop rotating for a moment. Please let me catch up. It feels like I’m going so fast, days are flying by and I’m trying so damn hard to function but I can’t organize my thoughts. I can’t cut hair and process my feelings, I can’t be with people constantly and sort through all the junk that’s living in my head.
The people I feel closest to right now are my co-workers. They’re the only ones who have let me be in my weird, inconsistent moods, loving me anyways and never trying to fix anything. No one says anything when I snap, or cry. No one reminds me that it’s going to be ok, they just listen. Somehow I wonder how I got here. How did I stumble upon the most amazing group of people I’ve ever met?
I want to talk to my family and tell them what’s been going on in my head but that usually results in me getting angry, hearing the constant “Everything will be ok. You’re doing just fine.” I dream up emails I could send to my dad telling him how much I miss Rob, knowing that he’d just read them and let them be. I never do it though. Maybe thinking about it is enough. I don’t know.
When I do pick up the phone to return the four calls I’ve missed from mom she and I talk about work and the sparklies I’ve made and what’s going to happen with that. I venture out of my comfort zone and tell her I’ve been really angry lately and I don’t know what I want or need and it’s making me crazy. She reminds me it’s all part of it and one day I’ll wake up and the process will be over with and I’ll move on. I feel like I am moving forward but it’s not something that can be rushed. I don’t want to think about the day that I wake up and I don’t think about Rob. She says that I can’t stay stuck. I don’t feel I’m necessarily stuck, just confused.
“It’s not like you had a whole year with him.” she tells me and it makes me want to hang up right then and there. I know her point is not to say what I’m feeling isn’t valid, it’s just that what I hear is “move forward, you didn’t have that much time with him so you shouldn’t be upset for too long.” Regardless if that’s how she meant it, that’s what I heard and it hurts. I feel it discounts the time I did have. It kills me that I can’t find the words to describe how much I loved Rob. I’ll never be able to explain it. I never knew I could ever feel that way. Didn’t think it was possible. I’ve never wanted to be with someone so badly in my life. No one has ever lit me up the way he did. No one has ever loved me for exactly who I was.
So this is why I don’t talk and plan to take as much time as I’m going to take, not knowing what that is. I know people mean well but sometimes things come out that I may take the wrong way, zero in on it and hang on to it for a little too long using it to beat myself whenever I feel like I’m doing something “wrong”.
At times, moving to Chicago right this minute seems like the best idea I’ve had in years. I can be completely anonymous in my little world, full of new surroundings never having to talk about this because no one knows. If I leave though, does that mean I’m running away? Is that what I need?
Later I’m on the phone with another friend who says that maybe Rob couldn’t completely fulfill what I needed here on Earth, so in leaving he’s become a deeper entity that stays with me all the time and serving another purpose. His words remind me of talking with a client who lost her husband several years ago at a really young age. She said his death really made her “come into her own” and helped her really discover who she was. I feel the same thing has happened to me. I don’t understand why it took losing Rob to make me open my eyes and actually live my life. I’m much more interested now in taking care of myself (for the most partJ ) than I ever was before. How is it that death can put things into perspective and have the ability to change so many lives?

@%&$!!!

It was Friday when I started feeling a little more crazy than usual. The phone had beeped one too many times and I was still trying to get my head on straight after Wednesday night’s debauchery. I am still angry at myself for that evening. It’s the one thing that’s harder to shake than the guilt following a binge on food. I know it’s already done and over but the awful feeling is lingering.
On Saturday, the gates of hell opened. If I had known I was going to argue with a crazy, have a girl cry in my chair after electing to chop her hair off, and walk on egg shells around another client and her damn schedule I would have left after my first one. The nightmare didn’t stop there. It continued with a dead car battery, a nail in my tire, and a possessed car alarm. When I returned home from that, there were again, one too many requests sitting in my little cellular device that I turned that shit off and threw it on the couch.
In the shower I tried to calm down. I tried to remind myself that everything is ok. Everything will be taken care of, just not in the time frame I originally wanted. I have everything I need, right now. I had run into a friend at a coffee shop this morning. He sat with me when it was the last thing I wanted. He asked me how I was and I told him I was crazy. He asked why and I explained I was stressed about my car and not feeling like work today. He went on to say things like, “at least you have your friend’s car to borrow… at least you get to go to work…”
Blah. Blah. Blah.
THIS is why I didn’t want to talk. I KNOW that I am damn lucky to have the amazing friends that have blessed my life, a wonderful family, and a fabulous job. I feel horrible to even be complaining because I know I’ve got it good but it’s not NORMAL to be all happy happy joy joy all the fucking time so let me have my pissy, angry mood and leave me the fuck alone.
Of course I say none of this but sit and smile with my teeth clenched so hard they might break, until I’m alone again.
I’m noticing that people don’t know how to deal with an angry person just like they don’t know how to deal with a grieving one. I’m both so I guess that makes it extra complicated. I don’t need my problems solved for me, just an hear on occasion and not uninvited. I realize I sound like a complete asshole right now and I apologize but I don’t know how to even deal with myself and it’s very upsetting.
I get out of the shower and put Rob’s shirt on again for the millionth time. Even on the rare occasion I’m not wearing it, it’s always next to me in my bed. I turn off the lights and take off my glasses, placing them on the dresser next to me. I can’t see anything but I’m staring at the ceiling like I did so many nights when we were on the phone. I think about what Rob would say if he were still here after I got done losing my mind about my day. I imagine him reminding me that I worry too much and everything will be ok. I can almost hear his voice and it makes me cry until I can’t breathe. Who ripped off the band aid I so carefully placed on top of my open grieving wound?
Crying at night is the worst I’ve decided. He’s not there next to me. Nothing is. It’s too late to pick up the phone and even if I did, who would I call? There is nothing to say. No one can fix this. No one can bring him back. I’m stuck here drowning in my own fluid desperate to touch the body I’ll never touch again and it’s agonizing.
Sleep eventually happens and I eventually wake up to get ready for work yet again. It’s a short day. My phone is still off. My sweet therapist’s words are still floating in my head. “Melissa, if you don’t respect your time, no one else will.” The only thing I have to do this afternoon is meet my sponsor and I’m keeping it that way. Everything else can wait.
We’re in Little Five Points when she asks how everything has been. I give the short version, without looking her in the face and the abruptly stop talking when my story is over.
“You have a plan for your car right?” she asks.
I nod.
“Ok, so that’s good! Are you eating over it?”
“Nope.”
“Good!”
I nod and smile.
She tells me about her life and what’s been going on then tells me to pull out some paper and a pen. I do so, and look at her.
“Ok, we need to change our emails. I need you to…” she goes on.
I write down the instructions.
“I also need you to re-read Steps 11 and 12 and then…” she trails off and looks at me.
“Are you ok?”
I shake my head.
“Aw buddy! I knew something was up. You’re not on your game. What is it?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you. I just need to check out for a little bit.”
“I understand.”
We wrap our meeting up and I go home. “I should probably do these damn dishes”, I think to myself upon entering the kitchen, but I go to my room to change into my running clothes instead. It rained all morning and now looks clear.
I pound the pavement down N. Highland and through Freedom Park. Like a five year old I run through puddles, getting my shoes gross but I don’t care. The air is humid and I feel my straightened hair become curly. It feels unbelievable to do nothing but run. To feel like I don’t have to focus on anything but inhaling and exhaling.
At home, after getting cleaned up I watch a movie, randomly crying for whatever reason at the oddest times. When it ends I stay up way too late constructing a new necklace.
Monday morning arrives and I get my car taken care of. A huge weight is lifted off my chest. I run a few errands and finally make my way to Decatur to a cute little coffee shop I went to a lot shortly after Rob died. I don’t know anyone (yet) and can write alone in a little corner next to a window. So that’s where I’ll be until I’m ready to join society again…

Wasted...

…
“We need a date night!” I said to Kat over the phone in between clients one afternoon.
“I know! What about next Wednesday?” she asks.
“Perfect! I was thinking about splitting a bottle of wine and ordering Thai food.”
“Yay! Maybe after that, we could go to MJQ.”
“Absolutely!”
MJQ is our favorite club. It’s five minutes from our house and we always have a good time there. I’ve been wanting to go out dancing for a while now but haven’t made the effort.
When Wednesday arrives, I pick up dinner while Kat is finishing up at a yoga class. We’re both starving by the time she comes home.
“I haven’t had wine since before Rob’s accident.” I tell her after taking a sip from the pretty glass she brought over.
“Been too long!” she laughs.
As I’ve mentioned before, not only does alcohol aggravate my eating issue, it causes me to dip into a 24 hour depression the next day. I’ve been too scared to drink after Rob, afraid of what I might feel. For whatever reason though, I think I can handle it. Like maybe this time will be different.
“Want a Captain and Coke?” Kat giggles after we’ve polished off the bottle of wine and dinner.
“Uh huh!” This is how it starts…
She fixes us the “special Captain” that she brought back from London a while back. We can’t find it here on this side of the pond.
After that’s done, we’re pleasantly drunk and walking up the street to Limerick for yet another drink.
“Whatcha want?” she asks me.
“Absolute and tonic.” I smile.
She orders the same then turns to talk to a girl she knows who is standing next to us. I see this girl talking and I hear her voice, but I have no idea what she’s saying. I’m completely apathetic.
“Kat, we should a car bomb.” I giggle a little while later.
“Ok!”
I can’t remember the last time I did one. There’s a reason for that. I don’t know what’s possessing me to get stupid. We order and suck down the car bombs, giggling.
“You ready?” Kat asks after the vodka tonics are done.
“Yup.” I slur.
Once outside finding a cab is proving to be impossible.
“Ok, let’s go to Blind Willie’s, get a drink and call a cab.” Kat pipes up.
“Deal.”
Blind Willie’s is a blues bar next door to Limerick. Once inside we park at the bar and drink one more vodka tonic.
After that, I don’t remember what happened…
…I roll out of bed needing the bathroom. I don’t bother putting on my glasses. It isn’t until I’m in the bathroom when I look down at my bare legs and see that I’m naked. Why am I naked? My eyes are dry and I realize that I’m still in last night’s makeup. How did that happen? I try to replay the events of last night but keep stopping at Blind Willie’s. What happened after? How did we get home? God Almighty. What is that smell?
I stumble back to my room, realizing I am still drunk. It’s 9am and that smell is my own vomit. I suddenly remember a sliver of a dream about throwing up last night. It didn’t register at the time that it was actually happening… in my own damn bed, while I was still in it.
Oh my gosh. Really? Oh my gosh… Is all I can think. What happened to me? Never have I ever been so sick. I slowly lower myself on my stomach across the end of the bed, away from the mess. I had kicked my comforter completely off. I stare at the bookshelf, unable to move.
“Lissa?” Kat’s voice whispers through the crack in my door. I perk up.
“Kat. I’m naked, and still drunk. What the fuck happened?” I pull the comforter off the floor and over my body.
“Oh my gosh.” she says when she opens the door. “Are you ok?”
“Not so much. I don’t remember anything that happened after Willie’s.”
“You had fun!” she giggles.
“This… is not fun. What happened at MJQ?”
“We had a drink, and danced until about one thirty. You didn’t do anything stupid or anything. I did think though while we were walking out that the cop standing at the door was going to say something. You were stumbling pretty badly, but that‘s all.”
“Oh Lord…I am never doing this again. For real. No more alcohol. Ever. I mean it.”
“I’m sorry love. Do you want any water?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
“Kay. Go back to sleep.” she closes the door.
There’s no way I’m sleeping in here. I roll off the bed again and stumble into the shower.
While I know it’s supposed to feel good to be clean, I can’t feel anything. I pull on one of Rob’s shirts and curl up on the couch in the living room.
I sleep for three more hours. I’m going into work at two. I contemplate calling in sick but I need to go. I feel I deserve to be miserable after what I just did to my body.
I throw up three more times while cleaning up the mess I made in my room. My throat is raw and nothing is comforting to it. I try to look human after that’s all said and done. I pull on a dress and spread flesh colored foundation across the skin of my face, followed by blush and lip gloss.
When I climb into my car, I try to start the ignition and nothing happens. Over and over I try to start it. Nothing. Instead of screaming or crying I simply get out and walk back to the house. The sun is burning my eyes.
“Kat?” I call out to her once inside.
“Yeah?” she appears at the doorway.
“Car won’t start.” I mumble.
“Ok, hang on.”
Seconds later she returns with the keys to Gordon’s car.
“Here ya go. Take his car and we’ll figure out what to do with yours later.”
“Thanks love.” I smile and go to work. I had this issue with the car earlier this week but it started and everything has been fine since.
Part of my day is full at work. There’s a huge gap in between my afternoon and evening clients. For once, I’m ok with that.
In between clients I’m in the break room staring at the wall when Shali asks, “What’s wrong Melissa?”
“I am so hung over.” I slowly reply. Everyone stops talking.
“You?!” Sarah giggles.
I nod, laughing all the sudden.
“You never drink!” she exclaims.
“This is why!” I laugh.
“Where did you go?” Erin pipes up.
“Limerick, Willie’s, and MJQ but I don’t remember that part.”
“Why are you even here?” Sarah asks.
“Girl’s gotta eat.” I laugh. “Besides, self induced illness is no reason to call in.”
“I think you were due for a crazy night after the past couple of months you’ve had.” she smiles.
I nod. “It won’t happen again. I so wanted to go out dancing too! I can’t even remember it! There’s a part of my life that’s gone forever now!”
“Welcome to my world.” Sarah laughs.
I wander upstairs to the spa a little later, curl up on a couch in a tight ball and read for my two hour gap in between clients. The reading is mixed with more staring into space. Maybe this is why last night happened. I’d been going 100mph and needed to stop, take a break. I didn’t slow down when I needed to and this is where I’ve ended up. Nothing feels important now but feeling better.
Work ends and I go home, still carrying my dizzying nausea. I contemplate finishing the necklace I started last night but sit down on the couch to read instead. When my eyes become too heavy to stay open, I get up and turn off the overhead light. I want nothing to do with my room for whatever reason. I fall asleep on the couch.

Church...

I lean out of the passenger side of the car, left hand gripping the armrest of the open door. The last thing I see before my stomach empties it’s contents on the pavement is the little pieces of grass pushing through the cracks of the concrete. I pull myself upright when my body is done expelling what‘s left in my belly…
My eyes fly open and I realize that I’m in my bed, not in a car, and I’m not sick. I squint hard, trying to read the numbers on the alarm clock. It’s 4:08am. “Vomit.” I think to myself. “What does that mean?” I’ve never dreamed about that before.
I don’t completely go back to sleep after that, but doze off and on until 6:00am when I finally get up and dressed. My dad is singing at church this morning and I said I’d be there. I want to write a little beforehand though.
At Inman Perk, I try very hard to say what I want to say but I’m finding it impossible. My head won’t calm down. I leave and go home to drop off my laptop.
Back in the car, heading down I-75 I realize I’m going to be way early to church. I haven’t been since Rob died. I’ve received many sympathy cards from various church members and they’re all greatly appreciated, I’m just not in the mood to talk openly about all this to everyone this morning. I want to go, be still and quiet while clinging to my family.
The phone rings and I see it’s mom.
“Hi!”
“Hey! I just wanted to let you know that your grandparents and aunt are coming to hear daddy and we’ll be sitting up front, incase you’re late.”
I’m never late.
“Ok.”
“See you when you get here!”
“Ok! Bye!”
I hang up and quickly change lanes, deciding to go to the cemetery for a few minutes. I get off at the next exit and within minutes, I’m pulling into the vast expanse of land that holds who knows how many people. I park near where Rob is and turn off the engine. Within minutes of climbing out and walking over to him sweat is making it’s way down my spine.
There is no headstone yet, only a bunch of bright sunflowers laying on top of the grass. I’m never really sure what to do here. It’s not like I’m going to actually see him. It kills me though, that to be physically close to the body that used to keep mine warm, the body I used to hug, kiss, wake up next to, and adore, I have to sit on the ground in front of grass and simply remember him. My Sundays aren’t filled with endless laughing, cups of coffee, or stories anymore, but this lingering emptiness I desperately want to fill.
I stare at the grass through blurry, tear-filled vision. I’m not sure how long I’m there before I remember that I should be heading to church. I tell him I love him and walk to my car.
Despite my efforts to arrive at church at eleven sharp, I’m still there a teeny bit early. My grandfather’s face is the first I see when I open the heavy doors. I’m beaming, walking toward him when I’m intercepted by a sweet woman who has known me my whole life but who is someone I don’t know very well.
“It’s so good to see you!” she wraps her arms around me.
“Same here.” I smile but don’t make eye contact when she lets me go.
“I’m just so sorry for your loss.”
I nod, still not looking at her.
“I just want you to know we’ve all been praying for you.”
“Thank you.” I reply.
“It’s just a horrible, horrible thing to have happen to you at such a young age…”
Is there an age where it’s easier getting a phone call stating that the person you loved most on this planet is gone?
I’m still nodding, desperately wanting to grab on to my grandfather’s arm.
“How are you?” she asks.
The dreaded question. If I say I’m “good” I assume that people assume I’m lying or ‘over it’, which is not the case. If I say I’m a mess, then I assume people will pity me and I don’t want that. If I say I don’t know, then they ask more questions and I don’t want that either.
“I’m ok.” I settle with that.
She’s nodding, but staring at me like she’s trying to read what exactly ‘ok’ means and I’m uncomfortable. (I feel horrible even writing this, because don’t get me wrong… I’m glad people care. I’m glad people have been there for me, but sometimes it feels invasive. Folks don’t know that unless I tell them, and I’m choosing not to, simply to avoid any more awkwardness. )
The service is starting and mom comes up to me, telling me to come on. I loop my arm through hers and we walk to where the rest of my family is sitting.
“Mama. I’m going crazy.” I whisper to her.
I think she misunderstood me because she laughs and we sit down. I open the bulletin to see what’s on the agenda for this morning and see that the prelude to the service is “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”. It was the first hymn that we sang at Rob’s funeral. I chew on the inside of my mouth to keep from crying as the music starts. I keep reading the bulletin and see that the closing hymn is “Amazing Grace”. For the love of God!!!
Ah, but the icing on this cake was spread a little while later after we listen to my dad’s warm, rich voice sing a patriotic medley, that concluded with a standing ovation. (so proud!J ) The preacher tells us to turn in our Bibles to Romans 7:15. Never have I ever cracked open a Bible during service. I didn’t plan on starting until she read, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate, I do….For I have the desire to do what is good but I cannot carry it out…”
I swear my eyes are about to explode out of my head. I can’t even believe what I’m hearing. My mind swarms around the things I’ve done to myself and to other people, knowing better but doing it anyway. She begins the sermon and for the first time in my life, I’ve got a pen and paper out, writing as fast as she’s speaking, trying to understand it all.
“Let us throw away what entangles us… with sin we come away with more than we expected. It’s like a woodpecker, pecking a hole in a tree. It’s all small little noises repeated over and over until there’s a huge hole…sin is the lie that we are self-created, self-dependent…”
I almost feel I’m in an OA meeting right now. We’re taught to lean on a ‘Higher Power” instead of ourselves for recovery. This… is what I don’t understand…I believe that God created us. I believe he gave us free will and that if we follow Him, we’ll stay out of trouble. I believe we’re all connected and there is a reason why we each come in contact with the people that we do, but why? What’s the point of God creating us?
She concludes with explaining that walking into the unknown requires a leap of faith and that faith “is the gift of God.”
I can barely sing “Amazing Grace” when it’s all said and done. As the service ends I bound up the choir loft to hug my dad. He’s intercepted by several other people and I catch the eye of Steve, who works at the funeral home that Rob was at. I know he saw Rob’s body and I have to know if the image my head has created matches what he saw.
“Hi.” I walk over to him.
“Hey Melissa! How are you doing?” he hugs me and I don’t mind him asking.
“I’m hanging in there.” I nod. I’m not standing up straight. I don’t feel graceful but lumpy and awkward.
“It’s a tough thing.”
“It is. I have a question.”
“Sure.”
There is something about Steve that makes me want to tell him my life story. He’s so calm, patient, and understanding. I don’t feel like hiding anything with him.
“Um. I don’t know why this is so important to me but I have to know… um… could you tell me what Rob looked like when you saw him?”
He speaks in a tone that a doctor might use when telling you that you’re facing a terminal illness. The part of my brain that processes anything emotional shuts down immediately when his words match the image that I’ve carried with me. I don’t even think image is the correct word, but more of a ’feeling’, since my mind can’t possibly put together and acknowledge what was really there on the pavement… not when he was perfect when he left my house that morning.
I ask a few more questions and Steve reminds me to go my own way, grieve my own way and don’t let anyone tell me otherwise. I assure him I’ve done, and am doing, just that.
“Thank you for talking to me.” I hug him again.
“Anytime. Take care of yourself.”
I walk down to where my family is and talk with them until I’m back in my car, driving through a storm, to Atlanta. Once home, I change into jeans and a t-shirt. I walk into the living room, sit on the couch and stare at the wall. I have an hour before meeting up with my sponsor. I’m trying to decide what to do. I could write, I could read, or go shopping in Little Five Points. I don’t move though. Minutes pass. I pick up the phone and call a friend. I hate the phone. I’m not even sure I want to talk about this but find myself dialing his number, needing to tell another human what I just heard.
“Why did you ask that?” he asks after I tell him I approached Steve but before I could tell him what Steve told me.
“I don’t know! I had to know, but I don’t know why.”
I try very hard to repeat the words, to get it out without bursting into tears. When it’s all out, we’re quiet and my urge to cry uncontrollably has left.
“I wish I knew what to say.”
“I don’t expect you to say anything.” I reply, staring at my knee.
“I know, I just want to fix it.”
“I want you to fix it too!” I laugh.
Minutes later, we’re hanging up and I’m meeting my sponsor for coffee. I’m still a little delusional but manage a conversation. Neither of us are feeling well and don’t stick around long.
At home again, I sit at my kitchen table and start a necklace, then a bracelet, then another necklace and before I know it, the sun has disappeared. I can’t help but to smile and feel better when I examine the things my hands just made. I imagine that if Rob were still here, I’d be all giddy over the sparklies, gushing to him about all the pretty colors in the same manner he would tell me about all the car stuff he’d been working on. Each subject would go over the other one’s head but it wouldn’t matter. I like to think that he already knows how happy I am with my new endeavor.

Strugglin'...

I thought that if I opened a new document, I’d be able to start filling it up immediately with words, sentences, paragraphs because it‘s been a while since I‘ve written anything. I feel I’ve been quiet because I’m trying to figure out what’s in my head. Maybe that’s a lie though. Maybe I’m running from what’s in my head. This is forced at the moment because I can’t get the static of my thoughts to quiet down so I can pick out everything I need to say. I’m thinking that if I just start going, everything else will fall into place.
I’ve been feeling guilty lately for saying that I feel good when people ask how I am. For the most part, it’s an automated response because I still can’t find the words to describe exactly what goes through my head or what I’m feeling. To me, feeling good means being ok with the current moment, and I feel I shouldn’t be. I’ve lost Rob and stepped into a world of trouble. What’s good about that?
On the flip side, I can’t remember a time where I was as productive as I am now. I feel like everything I’ve thought about doing with my life is all swirling around me and is coming together in some way or another. It has me up in the air, happily bouncing off clouds, forgetting about my grief for the time being. Sometimes though I bounce too high, lose my footing and free fall through memories of waking up next to him, hearing him laugh, watching his eyes absorb me, and knowing I‘ll never have that with him again, but before I can drown in a sea of tears, something pulls me back up again and places me back on a cloud and I’m bouncing again.
When I’ve shared some details of my life with various clients recently I’m getting the “you’re doing too much” response, whereas before, when Rob’s accident had just happened I was encouraged to fill every single minute with doing something. I did none of the above and feel I handled it appropriately. I’d love it if people quit telling me how to live my life. It makes me shut off and quit telling people things.
Something else I’ve been interested in exploring is why I somehow feel the need to do things to myself to feel stuff. I went for a walk with my friend Shannon last week and we were talking about my recent piercing.
“I have an opinion on why you pierced your ear.”
“What’s that?” I ask, already pretty sure of what she’s going to say.
“The pain you’re feeling is so great that you had to do something else to get away from it.”
Yup.
“You’re right!” I laugh, although I’ve wanted the piercing for a while now, this just seemed like a good time to do it. Even at the gym, I enjoy feeling my muscles burn, I don’t mind the pain in my fingers when winding wire around a bead or charm for the billionth time, or squishing my feet into high heels, looking at the sun, or wanting someone yank me around just so I can feel anything but what it is that is still hovering over me, waiting for me to slow down and be open to experiencing what I’m running from.
What the hell is it anyway? What is it that I’m so afraid of? I cry when I need to, I write when I can, I talk when I want to, so what is it that I’m still trying to mask with external things? Why has it been my mission to find something else to hurt myself with when it’s the last thing I need?