Last Day...

I use the calendar in my cell phone to remind me of things quite often. Sometimes I attach an alarm to the reminder but most of the time, I don’t. I noticed this morning (Aug 23) that the date in my phone was highlighted. I didn’t have plans tonight. I clicked on it and the words “Last day of work” popped up. I was supposed to move to Chicago on Monday. I absolutely cannot believe the day has finally arrived…and I’m not going right now.
When my work day ended I thought to myself, ‘if this were to be my last day it was a damn good day!’ I enjoyed the company of my clients and laughing with my co-workers.
Later, while at dinner sitting across from my co-worker a our favorite Thai restaurant I say to him that I was supposed to move this weekend.
“Wow! Really?” he put the menu he was holding down.
“Yeah, it’s so weird how everything changed.”
“Are you still going at some point?” he asked.
“Someday.” I smile.
We each order our favorite dishes and talk in low voices about things despite the typical loudness of the restaurant.
“I can’t believe I ate all that.” he laughed once we were done.
“It’s so good!”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I don’t care, walk, see a movie, doesn’t matter.”
“Let’s go to Urban Outfitters.”
“OK!”
We leave and walk down the street to the huge store. I watch him dart from one corner to another randomly asking my opinion on various things.
“What do you think about this hat?” he said, wearing a black and turning in front of the mirror.”
“I like it.” I smile.
“I don’t look weird?”
“No!” I laughed.
“I don’t know about it.” he puts it back on the table.
Each time I went astray to look at something he reeled me back in to show me this or that. I eventually stayed with him. I don’t like to shop for me with other people around anyways.
We left a little while later and went for a long walk. Rain drizzled on us and stopped, then started, and stopped. We of course were talking about our habits as usual.
“Does it bother you that we mostly talk about this?” he asked.
“Not really. It’s what’s in your head right now and until that changes, well, it’s how it’s going to be for now. When I don’t want to hear anymore I’ll tell you and I hope you’ll do the same for me.”
“I will. It’s just, I get tired of hearing myself sometimes.” he looked at the ground. We’re sitting in a park under the dark sky.
“I know what you mean. I was the same way. Even going back and reading some of my journals from before OA I drive my own self crazy with the details of my food obsession.”
“Wanna head back?” he asked after a while of sitting in the damp air.
“Sure.”
The rain began it’s drizzle again.
“I don’t even want to know what my hair is doing now.” he said a few minutes later.
I laughed, being we both have curly hair and we both straighten it. “Me either.” I could see the tiny curls already trying to form around his hairline.
Back at my house we stayed up watching TV until two in the morning. He passed out on my couch and I retreated back to my room.
The next morning I was up before my alarm. He was too. We both silently shuffled around until his phone started ringing. Over and over it rang. He stared at it for a while then said “I don’t know who this is.” It kept ringing. I shook my head.
“I’ll be back.” he walked outside.
I could hear his voice elevate as he snapped at whoever was on the other end. Minutes later he rushed back inside and grabbed his bag. “I have to go. I’ll see you at work.” He was gone before I could say a word.
I was taking care of my parent’s dog, Gus, while they were out of town. I stared at the dog trying to figure out where to go from here. Do I get coffee and write like I planned or do I take Gus back to Jonesboro before work because I can’t think to write? Jonesboro it is.
I loaded him up and set off down I-75. I’m angry. Why am I angry. I’m angry at my co-worker. I’d rather feel the grief than this much anger right now. I try to break this down in my head. What did he do? Nothing. What do I want from him? Oh damn. That’s it. I want him and his company to solve my problems, to ease my grief. He has no idea, and never stood a chance against my unbelievably high expectations. I knew good and well he wasn’t going to be able to ease my grief. Nothing and no one can. Certainly didn’t stop me from trying. “Ok then.” I exhale. Now I know and now I can try to make better decisions.
I quickly unload Gus and his things and drive back to Atlanta. I get ready for work and go in and do my clients. I don’t get a chance to say much of anything to my co-worker.
Work ends and I meet my friend Amy for coffee then talk to my sponsor before falling into bed. I feel the waves of grief crashing against the walls of my head again without the buffer of food or the presence of another human and desperately try to close my eyes and sleep.

Four Months...

It‘s taken a while for my head to clear enough to sit down and write. It’s still not totally there so I apologize ahead of time if this seems a bit scattered.
Backing up to August 19th, I was about to leave work when I decided to check my email. There was a message sitting in my Inbox from an unexpected sender. I immediately regretted opening it as I read ugly words that seared into my memory, words that took me back to a time in my life I’d certainly love to forget, words I never expected to hear from someone I was once proud to call my friend.
Immediately before my fingers could fly across the keyboard with an even harsher response, I grabbed the mouse, instructing it to close the browser. I quickly packed up my station and went home to meet Shannon. We were going roller blading.
She picked me up and we headed to the park. She told me about her day and when we got quiet, sitting at a traffic light my eyes filled with tears. Before they could fall I piped up. “Shannon? Thanks for being here, for listening to me, for not being an asshole…” I trailed off and stared out of the window.
“Well of course honey!” she replied going through the green light. “What are friends for?”
Exactly. I thought to myself.
The next day I woke up early and like clockwork, headed to Inman Perk. I can’t really say how I felt. It was four months ago today that Rob died. That on top of the sting of this damn unsolicited email had me both tremendously sad and filled with rage at the same time. The timing couldn’t be worse. I’m actually feeling grief again and not stuffing it down with food and other things so I feel extra raw.
I sit at my usual table and shortly after setting up my computer, a friend from OA walks up to me.
“Hey lady!” she smiled.
“Morning!” I smiled back. It was good to see her.
“How are ya?” she asked.
“I’m…” I looked out the window. “I’m really angry.” I finally reply. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.”
She listened while I explained how I felt about yesterday and today being an anniversary of Rob’s death.
“Wow.” she said when I was done.
“Yeah…” I sighed.
The great thing about the people I’ve met in OA is that for the most part they are pros at respecting boundaries, about not trying to fix any problem but they’re simply there and really, for me, that’s all I need.
She tells me about things going on in her life before saying, “If you need to talk more, or something comes up and you just have to say it, I’m right over there.” she pointed to a corner on the other side of the building.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll be back to check on you.” she winked at me.
I got back to the computer, writing my sponsor and trying to make sense of what was in my head. I desperately wanted to write this blog as things were happening but I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t resist the urge to cuss folks out so I just sat with it.
My friend returned an hour later.
“How you feelin’? she asked.
The tears began to fall again. “I am so lucky to have such amazing people in my life right now, but this really really hurts and couldn’t have come at a worse time. I miss Rob so much and since I’ve been trying to take care of myself, I’m actually having feelings again and I swear, it feels as if my dad just called to tell me about Rob. I don’t know why it works like this..” I wipe my face and stare out the window.
“It’s going to hurt until it doesn’t hurt anymore. You cannot rush this, you’ll be done when you’re done.” she gently replies.
They were the most perfect words anyone could have said at that moment. She’s right. I’ve never allowed myself time to really feel anything…in my life. I was always told to “let it go”, or “get over it” so quickly that I never really processed anything or felt anything because I didn’t feel it to be appropriate to have any feelings that were remotely negative. As a result I am filled with anger and it stays with me like a barnacle I can’t scrape off.
My friend and I eventually said goodbye. I packed up my computer, my legs suddenly feeling too heavy to move so I walked slowly toward the door when something caught my eye. It was the cover of a newspaper that might be of interest to my co-worker. I picked up a copy and walked to my car.
Sitting in my little silver shell, closed off from the world, I didn’t start the ignition. I cried instead. A lot. I couldn’t breathe anymore. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I didn’t care how long it took to stop crying. I didn’t care if I was late to work. I was going to take this moment and allow myself to cry. In between breathing and not, tears falling and not, I stare out over the dashboard. It’s going to be a pretty day.
I had been in the car for an hour when I decided to start the ignition and go home. It felt as if my legs didn’t have enough strength to push the gas or break.
When I made it home my mood quickly changed and the rage returned. I glanced at the clock. I had enough time before work to run through Freedom Park if I ran fast and didn’t stop. I raced through my room, changing clothes and ran out the door.
I literally sprinted all the way down North Highland. My brain felt scrambled with feelings of hurt and rage all mixed together and the more they came the harder I ran. I couldn’t see clearly, my feet were moving so fast. When I crossed North Ave and Freedom Parkway I was surprised by how fast I was still going. As I raced through the opening of the park, breakfast decided to leave my stomach. I came to a screeching halt and swallowed to stop it from making an appearance than decided I better slow down for a second.
I have a hard time pacing myself. Even when I was racing in high school, I had trouble with not going too fast in the beginning. When I decide to run again, I can’t keep a steady pace. I keep wanting to sprint again. So I do. I sprint and stop, sprint and stop until I make it through the park and back home again.
I shower and get dressed for work. I pulled on a dress and carefully did my make-up trying to feel better. It’s not working but at least it’s a start.
In the car I head to work. The tears come again and once I’m parked I decide to call my dad. He’s at work and I’m not sure what I’m going to say. I listen to the ringing on the other end and then his voicemail comes up. I hear the beep and start my aimless, meandering message.
“Hi daddy…Um…I was calling to say hi,… and it’s been four months today since Rob died…and everything is really hard at the moment.” I inhale and the tears start, leaving a long pause. “I’m sorry.” I stammered. “I, um…I have to go to work, and I don’t want to. I don’t know what I want to do. It just hurts a lot. I just needed to say that to you because I know you won’t try to say anything or tell me what I need to do, you’ll just listen. So yeah. I just wanted to say that and hi, and I love you.”
I hung up the phone and walked to work.
“Hi!” Jhoni exclaimed when I walked through the door.
“Hi darlin’.” I smiled and took my work tickets off the counter and walked to my station. I carefully pulled out my shears, blow dryer, combs and things and placed them in their respective spots as if I were handling the most precious objects I’ve ever touched.
I walked back to the desk to where Jhoni was and raked my fingers through her hair while staring out the door.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Not so good.” I shook my head.
“I’m sorry.” she replied.
We were quiet for a while before she turned to look at me and said, “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m here for you anytime you need to talk.”
“Thank you.” I smiled. “That means a lot.”
Clients began walking through the door. I turned and walked to the break room. My co-worker is sitting at the table working on something when I pulled out another letter I wrote him.
“How are you?” he asks, stopping to look at me.
I shook my head and placed the letter next to his hand before walking out.
I wrote the letter last night. I explained the email I received and how I felt about it. I explained that since putting the food down I’ve found other subtle ways of hurting myself. I feel this weird, slight depression coming on. I don’t want to the be awake but I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to make the sparklies, but I miss them, I don’t want to work but I don’t want to be off. I don’t want to pay my bills or be a functioning member of society right now. I also explained my feelings about some things he said to me last week.
I walked up to the front desk again where Monique was talking to Jhoni.
“Hi! How are you?” she asked when I stood next to her.
I shook my head and looped my arm through hers, putting my head on her shoulder. “Not a good day.”
“I’m sorry.” she replied, putting her head on mine.
“Rob died four months ago today and then yesterday…” I let go of her arm and turned to face her, finishing my story.
“What?! Who says that?!” she said when I stopped talking.
“It just came at a bad time.” I replied, the tears starting. I wrapped my arms tightly around her neck and cried.
“I’m really sorry.” she says to me when I let her go.
“Thanks. Thanks for everything, for being amazing, for being here.”
“Of course!” she replies.
I smile and turn to leave to get coffee.
My first client is at 2pm. I have two glorious hours to write, and drink this fabulous mocha. I walk upstairs to the spa and sit on the little sofa I used to sit in when I wrote the majority of Rob’s letters. I was there maybe a minute before my co-worker appears, walking towards me.
“I’ve been looking all over for you!” he exclaims.
“I’m right here.” I smile, happy to see him. He sits next to me.
“I read your letter.”
I turn to face him. “Yeah?”
“I felt like I wrote that to myself, minus your personal stuff.”
This lights me up. “Really?”
“Yeah, I think that’s my favorite so far.”
He starts talking and I listen without saying a word. Even when he stops talking I don’t say anything. Nothing to say really.
My phone rings. It’s Jhoni.
“Hey Melissa, you have an add-on at 1:15.”
“Ok, thanks.” I put the phone down. “Client coming in soon.” I tell him.
“Me too.”
We walk back downstairs.
My client is early. It’s good to see her. I haven’t seen her since January. The tears want to start when I’m blow drying her but I blink them back.
Stuart (favorite client) is my next one. I tell him about today and last night and about my co-worker, then returning to last night.
“Ya know, it’s crazy hard for me to really open up to people. I realize that when I do and I get hurt it hurts really really badly and I don’t know what to do with it but close up again because I’m too scared to feel that again. I know it’s not what I need to do but it’s the automatic response.” I tell him.
“People will not always like or accept you. That doesn’t mean change who you are.” he replies.
I know his words will sink in better at a later time when the hurt subsides but I’m grateful to hear him say that right now.
Work ends. I walk up to my co-worker.
“Are you going straight home?” I ask.
“Not straight home.”
I nod. “Want to hang out later?”
“Yeah. Um, meet at your house?”
“Sure.”
We both get into our cars and leave. Once I’m home I change clothes and talk to mom until he arrives.
“Whatcha want to do?” he asks, sitting the recliner that he’s called his favorite chair.
I’m on the couch. “Um, I really don’t care. We can stay here or walk around. There’s this fabulous playground down the street.” I giggle.
“Let’s go there.” he stands.
I take him the long way there. We talk about our day and the conversation moves again to our habits until he says “I don’t want to talk about this tonight. Let’s talk anything but this.”
“Deal.” I replied.
We arrive at the playground a few minutes later. We both go in opposite directions exploring different things then come back together. He pushes me around on this circle thing then we get up to swing on the swing set. I wanted to do these things with Rob. I think he thought I was silly for asking.
“Hey, check this out!” My co-worker piped up. He had already run off to another spot.
“Good luck with that!” I laughed as he climbed into this twirly apparatus.
Once he got momentum going he was spinning and laughing. “Here, try it.” he said getting off.
I climbed in and oh yeah, once I got going it was good stuff. “C’mere!” I said to him, slowing down. He was investigating something else.
“I know what you’re thinking!”
“Then c’mere!” I laughed.
He ran over and climbed in with me.
“It’s gonna go really fast.” I giggled.
“I know. Hang on.”
He gets us moving and the momentum from two people being on it makes us go so fast, everything but our faces becomes a blur.
“This was a good idea.” he tells me as he carefully untangles himself from the apparatus.
“Good.” I smile.
We leave and start to walk down Virginia Ave again.
“You know, one day I should bring my skateboard down and skate with you. We could go to Grant Park. They’ve got some amazing hills.”
“Oh my gosh! I was going to ask you the same thing! I don’t know about those hills though…” I laugh.
“It’ll be fine! Maybe we could go to the zoo…”
“I like the plan.” I smile, remembering Rob and I talking about going to the zoo. Things kept getting in the way and it was always “maybe next week.”
We kept walking, talking about a motorcycle he once had and about our current vehicles. I changed the subject and asked if he could be anywhere right now where would he be?
“Hmm. I don’t know.” he got quiet and then said “Out of the country for sure. I’ve never done that. Maybe Amsterdam.”
I nod. Somehow we started talking about Denver CO. He said he needed a vacation. I told him about my dad working for Delta and some of the adventures I’ve had.
“I’ve never been to Denver. One of these days we’ll have to go.” I smile.
“Oh yeah! I love checking out new restaurants and… oh sorry.” he stopped.
“What?”
“Your food issue. I always seem to talk about going to eat somewhere.”
I laugh. “It’s ok. It’s my problem to deal with. I still gotta eat!”
“I know, I just don’t want to make it worse.”
“You’re not.” I laugh.
Back at my house we’re sharing a chair in my kitchen scrolling through my music on iTUNES. I told him about the song by Band of Horses that I heard with Rob at my friend Amy’s house.
“I need this one! I haven’t heard it before!” he exclaims.
“I’ll burn it for you.”
Midnight had made an appearance. Neither of us could believe how late it had gotten.
“I’ve gotta go. Long drive ahead of me.” he says, standing up.
“Ok.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I stand and he hugs me hard.
“Yup. Be careful.”
“I will.”
I watch him walk out and I close and lock my door. I suddenly realize I’m alone and I miss his company already. Time spent with him is like a warm blanket on the coldest day of the year. I have to remind myself to be careful before falling into bed.

Ink Part 2...

Almost two weeks ago, my sponsor asked if I was going to get a tattoo to mark my time in recovery any time soon. I wanted to wait until my year anniversary of no binging (Jan 1, 09) to do it. Once it was brought up though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted a swirly vine going down the length of my right side with a few flowers and six ladybugs flying around it. I chose the spot because it’s the most painful, as this recovery program has been, and it’s not out in the open like my arms.
A few days later my artist, Sten came into the salon to see his girlfriend, and my co-worker, Rae. I took that as a sign and asked if he was working that Sunday.
“I am! Lemme guess, you want more ladybugs?” he laughed.
“Yes I do!” I squealed. “On my side.”
“Ok, we’ll set something up.”
It was decided later on that week that I would see him at 12pm on Sunday, at his new place of employment, Memorial Tattoo on Moreland Ave.
“You know that’s the most painful spot right?” Rae told me at work on Saturday.
“Yup.”
“Are you going to take anything?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. Nothing will hurt worse than what’s in my head right now.
Sunday arrived. I was up early and racing to Inman Perk to suck down coffee before heading to Piedmont Park. I wanted to get an hour of roller blading in before the park got crazy.
I’m disappointed to say I didn’t enjoy myself. Nasty, negative thoughts flooded my mind. I let them come and decided that once I was done with the park, I’d be done with my negative thinking and snap out of it. That mixed with dodging people and their dogs, rolling over one too many rocks and twigs had me heated even more.
“What is the problem?!” I asked myself as I took the skates off at my car once I was finished. It’s my day off and beautiful outside. I can’t wait to get this tattoo I’ve waited all week for. What is the matter? Why can’t I look people in the face? Why am I afraid they’ll see all my guts out there in the open when there’s nothing to see. It’s all contained.
Food. That’s it. Well…part of it. I’ve been without my usual sugar fix for 72 hours now. Three days is the longest I’m ever able to go before I cave and eat something. My sponsor wrote me yesterday explaining that anger is part of the process of getting over losing something, regardless of what it is. I don’t understand why this happens and I want to skirt around it. No such luck. I want to eat something right this minute but I already emailed my sponsor what the food plan was going to be today. I feel so retarded sometimes. It’s damn food. It’s there to keep us alive yet I use it for way more than that.
So I stay angry until it’s time to see Sten.
“Hey! Come on back!” he says when I walk through the door. He’s got his own room in the back of the little house that’s been transformed into a business.
“This is what I drew for you.” I tell him while pulling out the image I want permanently placed on my body.
“Ok.” he says while investigating it then sits at his drawing table and begins to sharpen up the image. I walk around to look at his paintings on the wall. I like how sharp his lines are and the way he uses color. “How you been?” he asks.
“Um.” I’m not sure how to answer this. I don’t know how I am or how I’ve been. “I’m crazy.”
“Crazy good or bad?”
“A little of both. I mean, everything is fine, I just have a lot in my head.” I reply and sit in a chair behind him. We’re quiet for a little bit.
“What’s got you all crazy?” he asks after a while.
Let’s start with Rob dying and the spiral that that’s spun out of control from there.
The floodgates open and I vomited all the crap that’s been taking up residence in my head for the past month or so, ending with telling him about my eating disorder, OA and what this tattoo means to me.
“You have been through a lot!” he turned to look at me. “I thought my life was crazy…” he trails off. “I guess this tattoo will be therapeutic for you.”
I nod. It will be but I don’t understand why. It’s gonna hurt. We’re quiet again until he finishes drawing.
“Ok, I need to make a stencil of this. I’ll be right back.”
“Ok.” I sit still for a while, thinking nothing, feeling nothing until he returns.
He continues setting up. I watch the needles go in the machine, the colors pour out of the large containers and into the smaller ones, the paper towels being torn…
“Come on over.” he motions for me when he‘s done. “Where do you want this exactly?”
I show him and he places the stencil on my prepped skin and peels it off.
“Ok, go look at that and see if it’s ok.” he tells me.
I walk to the mirror and look at it. “It’s perfect!” I smile. I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.
“Really look at it. We can move it anywhere.”
“You’ve always placed my tattoos perfectly. I love it. Really.” I replied, walking back to him.
“Ok. Lay down on the table with your back to me.”
I do as I’m told. For the first time since I’ve been getting tattooed, I’m not nervous. Usually as soon as I walk through the door of the shop I get nervous and giddy. I’ve felt nothing until I hear the needle fire up and explode into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Sten starts laughing.
“I don’t know!” I know he won’t be able to work unless I stop and I can’t. “I laugh when I’m nervous, which I am all the sudden, and I’m really ticklish.” I assume the anticipation of this experience is making me silly all the sudden.
“Oh boy.” he replies.
“Yeah, I’m gonna try and sit still.” I’m still giggling.
“Ok, I’m going to do a small little line and let you get used to it.”
“Ok.” My left arm is wrapped around the front of my body, holding my shirt in place. My right hand is under my left cheek pulling on a piece of hair and I work hard to stop giggling.
I feel his fingers on my hip then the sharpness of the needle meeting my skin.
“How’s that?” he asks after a few seconds.
“Lovely.” I’m giggling again.
We’re quiet for a long while. The needle moves up my side and my giggling has faded a bit. I close my eyes every time I feel it meet my skin and open them when it stops.
“You’re doing awesome. We’re getting to the hard part now.” he says as his fingers land on the bottom of my ribcage. I close my eyes when I hear the needle but they fly open when it meets my skin.
“Shit!” I snap.
“I know.” he laughs.
The needle moves higher and higher. I feel the vibrations of it all the way through to the other side of my body.
“God. Almighty.” My toes curl. I had forgotten I had been moving them around the whole time.
“Yeah, I like that little shuffle you’re doing with your feet down there.” Sten laughs.
I start laughing and have to chew on the inside of my face to stop. Needle starts again. It hurts so much that I start laughing again simply because there is nothing else to do. I elected to have this done. It literally feels like he’s using a jackhammer trying to strike oil or something on each little bone that makes up my ribcage.
An hour went by. He placed a cold, wet paper towel on my side and wiped the skin. I exhaled. Done. Whew.
“Do you want to take a break or keep going?” he asked.
“What?!” my head turned to face him.
He starts laughing. “I just finished the outline. We have to do the color.”
I am speechless.
“The look on your face right now is really funny.” he laughs.
“Color?” I said when I could form words. “I thought you were done.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh damn. OK. Um, may I see it?”
“Sure.”
I rolled off the table and looked at my inflamed skin around black lines. I still loved it and still wanted it finished. I walked back to the table and laid down.
“Keep going?” he asked.
“Yes sir.” I closed my eyes. I could feel the knots in my stomach start to go away. I don’t know why this happens but it’s awesome. My mind floats around as I try to breathe. I think about all the crazy shit I’ve done with food, all the times I felt sick and the times I ate so much I looked damn pregnant. I think about OA, the people I’ve met, my sponsor, how my life has changed. I never thought I’d be in an addiction recovery program. It wasn’t what I had planned for my little life but here I am and it’s taken me to the most amazing places despite the difficulty of the never ending challenge of trying to beat it. It’ll never ever go away. I’ll always have to work at it and that’s scary but I’m trying.
Once I get used to the back and forth motion of the needle coloring in various parts I feel I can talk without laughing. We talk about the various aspects of addiction and recovery, and why things happen to people.
“You have this gaping hole from this unexpected loss and you’re trying to fill it. It’s a really tough spot to be in.” he says.
“Tell me ‘bout it.”
“I mean, you guys were still in that honeymoon stage. You didn’t get a chance to get into a bad fight or see anything really negative about the other person.”
“Yup.” I’m trying not to cry.
“I have to work on the bugs. I’m going to be all over the place so it’s going to be like playing a game… where’s it gonna hurt next?” Sten laughed and started on a bug at the top of my ribs.
Aggghhh!!! “I’m ‘bout to cuss that damn bug out!” I snapped.
He kicked the door closed. “Cuss as loud as you want.”
I laugh instead.
Minutes ticked by. My toes are still curling and I’m still trying not to move too much.
“This yellow bug looks hot pink right now, but it’ll look normal in a little bit.” he says while the needles continues along the bones. I’m running out of energy to even laugh. Another hour has gone by.
A cold paper towel lands on my skin again. “Alright. We’re done!” he says.
“Yay!”
“Ok, go look at it. Be careful about getting up.”
I slowly roll off the table and over to the mirror. I saw my face before the tattoo. Half of it was red from being laid on. My hair resembled a busted rooster. Lord…I turned to the side and squealed when I saw all the bugs.
“It’s so perfect!”
“Awesome! Lemme bandage it up.”
I walk back over and he tapes me up explaining how to care for it. We walk upstairs, I pay him and leave.
I am completely relaxed and happy on my way back home. It’s like that little needle beat the shit out of my anger. There isn’t a trace of it left and it feels amazing.

Open...

“This program is based on honesty and right now, you aren’t being honest.” My sponsor gently reminded me a week ago.
“I know. Really the bottom line is, and I hate I’m saying this, I don’t want to stop.” I reply, unable to really look her in the eye.
“That thing in your head, telling you this is wrong… that’s your God voice talking to you.” she continues.
“I know.” I nod. “And I will. I promise. When I’m ready to let go.” That voice, since Rob died has gotten louder. It has steered me in some interesting directions, making me do good things randomly for people and for myself that I never thought possible.
I’ve been getting a physical release for a little while now from another person. I’ve “needed” him to numb the feelings of grief and I “need” the food to numb my feelings about using something (or in this case someone) to numb myself with. Vicious cycle this is…
I swore to myself I’d stop when it became too much. I just hoped that when that time came, I’d be strong enough and not completely blinded, to be able to stop. I’m trusting that “feeling” I get when I need to make a decision to tell me when. For now… I keep “using”.
It’s hard to describe what it’s like getting caught up in all this. I enjoy the high I get from feeling loved in a physical way. The whole world melts completely away. There is no work, no stress, no grief. It’s only warm skin beneath my fingers, a soft mouth on mine, and a heart that is beating softly in my ear. I can tell you it’s better than any cookie I’ve consumed, it’s euphoric, delicious… and fake.
Everything was fine. I was able to take it as it came and not think too much about it. A series of events quickly unfolded over the course of a week, starting with my sponsor’s comment about honesty and ending with me waking up one day with that feeling, thinking to myself, “I can’t do this anymore. End it now.”
I didn’t end it right away. I went back for one more high. Just one more time, to make sure and yeah, I got my verification when I felt horrible afterwards that I needed to end it immediately before any more damage could be done. Whatever void it was filling, the feeling was letting me know it was done and I needed to move before I got hurt even more.
I usually question these feelings, just to “make sure”, but no questions were needed. I promptly ended everything and waited for the explosion of feelings I’ve been stuffing into the depths of my head to come on out.
That didn’t take long at all. It’s like everything was waiting under the surface of the numbness to flood my head and knock me off balance again. Not that I was ever really balanced to begin with…
I’m tempted to use food to calm it all down. Really really tempted. So much in fact that I’ve kept in very close contact with my sponsor. I’ve had to change my emails to her and tell her what I will be eating that day instead of what I ate. I know if I go against what I tell her I’ll be disappointed in myself. I want to get better. I want to work this better and I’m trying really hard to understand that it’s work. Every. Single. Day.
It’s been a few days since all of this. I’m crying non stop again. The waves of grief are coming so hard and fast that I’m getting sucked in and carried out to some unknown place. I’m angry beyond belief with him, with myself with this whole situation. Mostly with myself though. I know good and well there is nothing I can do or use to fix this madness. I’m stuck sitting through it. The sooner I can accept that, the better. I’m just not quite there yet.
I spent some time today writing my co-worker. He’s off today. I don’t know why I feel this intense urge to write to him but I do. I’ve fought the urge for a week now. There is nothing I write that I feel I could ever just randomly bring up so I write to get it out to another person. Like Rob did when I wrote him about my food issue, my co-worker reads my letters, and puts them away, never really saying anything but understanding everything.
My letter tells him about my relationship with Rob, what he meant to me and the events that have followed his death. I don’t know why I feel compelled to relive all of this but I do. It’s centering me somehow. I cry forever and it takes an eternity to write but I don’t want to stop until I’ve said everything I’ve needed to say.
I feel so wide open in the scariest way ever. While I want to be a friend to my co-worker I’m scared I’ll make him my replacement to food, focusing on “fixing” him instead of my own recovery. My skin is crawling, I want to eat so badly. I’m almost tempted to go back to the sex because I’m not sure I can do this. I want everything to shut off.
I keep writing instead.
Work ends. I need to go to an OA meeting. I’d rather not but feel pulled in that direction. Once I’m there, as always, I’m happy I went. Ironically enough the topic of discussion is the “tools” we need to use to get through recovery. I of course, needed to be reminded of this. My favorites are meetings and writing. I loathe the phone but I’m trying to move beyond that and actually use it more. Slow process.
It feels so good to hear everyone’s stories and to know that we all struggle with the same things. I’m content when I leave but once I get home, my mind starts to wander. I can’t seem to nail down a project and stick to it. I was going to draw for a while until I started thinking about writing so here I am. I think I’ll go draw now…

Stuck...

It feels like someone chopped my head off, played soccer with it, lost the game and gave it back, leaving me to fix it. How did I let this happen? Who said you could have my head? Give that shit back and leave me alone. I’m now stuck with it in my lap, stitching pieces of skin back on, popping my eyes back in and trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to breathe again.
Oh I am angry!!! Lately, things had to be re-evaluated and rearranged and now I’m living with my decisions and trying my absolute best to stand up but the floor sure is looking nice. I’ve managed to manipulate myself, eating around the things I told my sponsor I wouldn’t eat. It’s not fixing the problem obviously. I’m sedated only for the duration of consumption and then I get to feel all the guilt. I hate it but somewhere in my mind, I feel it’s better than feeling the alternative… which is what’s making me eat to begin with.
Basically, when I get to the bottom of everything that’s been done, everything that’s happened, good and bad it’s simply because I miss Rob. I’m unable to sit still. I’m unbelievably lonely but don’t feel up for company. I can’t talk. I don’t know what to say. I can’t explain what it is because I don’t understand it. I just want to know how to just experience it. I’m too good at bouncing from one vice to another, never stopping to think how it’s is going to feel later. Needless to say, I’m a little slow in the learning department.
I leave work and go home. Shannon and I go to the park and roller blade. After that I’m home again. It’s dark and quiet. I poke around my room looking for my sketch pad and pencils. I found them buried in my closet. For the next couple of hours I sit in the kitchen, Tori Amos singing to me while I draw. It’s very very rare that I draw anymore. Usually things are really bad when I get out the pencils and paper. I’m unable to communicate any other way so this is it for now. My subject matter usually consists of ladybugs, butterflies and a spider here and there.
I’m too angry to worry about whether or not what I’m drawing is right or wrong, whether the proportions are correct or not. My mind takes off, trying to repair itself while my hands flutter around the once blank page. I’m quite content with what I’ve created once I finish.
I think about my co-worker while glancing at the time. I pick up the phone and text him, explaining how angry I am, and how badly I want to eat and not doing so is killing me.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?” he texts back.
“It feels like I have no skin left on my body. I can’t sit still.” I text back, the image of my phone blurring from tears.
“You can come over if you want.”
I think about that. I want to, I want to unleash all this insanity on him but it’s getting late. Hmm.
“I’d like to. It’ll take a minute to get there.”
We keep texting back and forth until he doesn’t respond and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. I look at the clock again. I should go to sleep.
I woke up early this morning, ate breakfast and headed to Inman Perk. I wasn’t there long before going back home to drop off my computer and picking up my roller blades. I went to Piedmont Park and skated while watching the sun come up over the midtown skyline. My hips an legs are on fire but my breathing is deep and for once I’m perfectly calm and relaxed. I’ve realized that when I run, my feet take on the rhythm of the music I’m listening to. Same thing is happening while on the skates but I like a different tempo on the skates than when running.
It rained last night and everything seems extra green. I wonder what Rob’s doing. A new song begins playing on my iPOD and it brings on two memories. The first is the Saturday before Rob died he and I were at my friends Amy and Jamie’s house. A song was playing on her computer and I loved it. It was by “Band of Horses”. I had to get her tell me the name of the band three times. Rob and Jamie talked about other various bands they liked while Amy and I tried not to giggle too loudly at Rob’s preciousness. (I’m sure he’s thrilled to know that right now I’m calling him ‘precious’.J ) Amy texted me the next day saying they loved Rob and couldn’t wait to hang out again with us. The next week I was calling her, waiting for her to pick up, trying to find the words to explain what had just happened.
The second memory is recent. My co-worker and I are in his car on our way to the theater when he pulls out his iPOD.
“Have you ever heard of “Band of Horses?” he asks while plugging it in.
“Oh my gosh! Yes! You just reminded me I need to download a song by them!” I exclaim and immediately make a note to do so in my phone.
“I really like them. This is my favorite song.” he says while pressing ‘play’. “It’s called “The Funeral”.
We’re quiet as the song plays. It’s not the one I heard at Amy’s but I can’t believe the title of it.
We pulled into the parking lot when it stops playing.
“Awesome isn’t it?” he looks at me.
“Yup.” I nod. We get out of the car.
“Where are they from?” I ask, already pretty sure I somehow know the answer.
“Um, South Carolina.”
I knew it! I tell him about the night Rob and I had with Amy and Jamie and how he and I just listened to a song titled “The Funeral”.
“How weird is that?” he looks at me.
“I know.”
At Inman Perk this morning I eventually found the song I heard at Amy’s on iTUNES. I bought the whole CD.
When it feels that my ass is literally gonna fall off I decide it’s time to take the skates off. I put my shoes on, and text my sponsor, telling her what I will be and will not be eating today before heading to the grocery store. I’m desperate to be happy again. I want to try and make today better.

Hurt...

Memories of having sex with Rob the morning of the day he died crept into my head when I woke up this morning. Actually it’s only one tiny piece of a memory that keeps replaying. It’s the palm of my hand finding his and my fingers lacing between his. I am seriously in awe at how our brains work. How does this even happen? Where did this memory come from and why is it choosing this moment to remind me of what I’ll never get to feel again with him? Why do I even try to entertain the idea of replacing it? It hurts so much I can’t see straight.
Make it stop. I feel I’m being eaten alive. Well,… I’m the one doing the eating. I thought I was doing pretty well there for a short while but this shit is no joke. This and my other ‘vices’ sneak up on me very slowly letting me think I can ‘handle it’ then out of the clear blue sky I’m knocked on my ass, mouth full of something sweet, wondering what the hell happened.
A lot of things have shifted since talking with my co-worker. Things I didn’t even know needed shifting, shifted and I still can’t quite put words to it. I’ve started a couple of letters to him, trying to get it out but I still can’t. I want to write him but it makes me nervous. I had reserved that part of my life for Rob. I’m scared of… I don’t know…scared of being hurt more than I already am by being open with him.
I get to work, happy to see everyone and maybe get out of my head for a little while. I have a painfully slow day but feel ok with being still. I text my sponsor telling her what I plan to eat that day so I don’t go too far off the path.
Later on Rae and I are talking in the break room.
“So I heard you guys saw us on Saturday night!” she laughed.
“Oh yeah!” My co-worker and I saw her and her boyfriend walk by when we were sitting outside of my house.
“Sooo…” she smiled.
“Nothing happened!” I laughed. I told her about falling asleep with him.
“I just…” I’m trying not to cry.
“You just wanted a warm body there.” she finished for me.
I nodded. “He doesn’t know this is what was going through my head.”
“It’s just nice sometimes.”
“Yeah.” I smile.
I’m bored and end up eating. Not much, but I still feel like ass for doing it. I text my co-worker. “I’m fucked up, pissy and full. Grr.” He’s with a client. I walk outside and call my sponsor. Her voicemail picks up.
“Hey. It’s Lissa…” I started but so did the tears. I explain as best as I can what’s been in my head today. It’s the longest voicemail I’ve ever left for someone. I hang up and begin scrolling down the list of names in my phone. Rob’s name is highlighted when I stop scrolling. I knew he’d have the answer…saying I worry too much and everything will be ok. So I called him and got his voicemail. Over and over I dialed, smashing the phone to my ear to hear him. I eventually stopped and scrolled down to Nathan. I haven’t talked to him since Rob’s funeral. I call him. As the phone rings I think to myself. “I’m actually calling people. Not eating anything else but picking up the phone to make a connection with another human being…” I do want to get better. I really really do.
“Hey!” his voice exclaimed on the other end.
“Hey sugar!” I smiled.
“What’s going on?”
“Oh ya know… are you at work?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
I go into how much I miss Rob, how some days are worse than others and today is one of those days.
I cry and cry and cry and he listens to me, not saying anything until I can breathe again. I tell him about my co-worker and how much he means to me but how I’m scared of the whole thing. I gave Rob everything. Now it’s like I give pieces of everything to certain people. There isn’t just one whole person anymore. One of the scariest pieces is all the emotional shit that happens in my head before getting into anything edible and I feel I’m walking on a fragile line with my co-worker. It’s nothing he’s done but my own insecurities that make me nervous.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to unleash all this on you.” I smile.
“It’s ok. I told you to call whenever you need to.”
He tells me about his newlywed life, and about work and his family. It’s interesting. He’s married now, it’s not to me, and I’m ok with it. He’s still one of my very best friends.
For a little while longer we entertain each other with random stories until I have to go back inside and wait for my client. We say goodbye and I head back into the air conditioning.
I put my phone away and walk into the break room. My co-worker walks up next to me and hugs me. I press my face into his chest and chew on my cheek to keep from crying.
“You ok?” he asks when he lets me go.
“Nope!” I smile.
“When’s your next one?”
“Four fifteen.” I glance at the clock.
He nods. “It’s hard to be here all day waiting around isn’t it?”
“Yup.” I nod.
“Almost done though.” he reminds me before walking out to get his client.
I walk upstairs to the spa and text Monique while trying to write. Her last message to me ends with “Love you.” I dissolve again. I cannot stop crying. I can’t even write anymore. Why can’t this be enough? Why can’t I accept love that people are giving me? Why am I looking for it everywhere else but where I know it is?! What sense does that make?!
I pick up my phone. It’s 5:41pm. My next one will be here in 4 minutes. I look like a train wreck. I peel my busted ass off the couch, dry the tears and go downstairs with my ‘happy face’.
“Melissa, your client’s here.” Matthew tells me when I reach the bottom of the stairs.
“Thanks.” I put my things down in the break room and go find her.
I leave work a little later than expected. I’m fighting every urge to eat on my way home and it’s killing me. I’m choosing to write this instead of ordering something “to go” from the restaurants around the corner from my house. The urge to eat hasn’t left my mind but I’m trying very hard to sit still and feel this. I don’t know what it’s like to sit with it. I always give in and for this moment, right now, I promise to be still.

Recovery...

I slept hard but not much. It’s almost 7:30 when I open my eyes and see him next to me, his arms curled under his chin. I roll over and close my eyes again. I don’t move until the alarm goes off. I reached over and turned it off. He moves but doesn’t open his eyes. I push some hair off his forehead and he wakes up.
“Mornin.” I smile. “Alarm just went off.”
“It did?”
“Uh huh.”
“Ok.” He gets up and walks into the living room.
I don’t move. I’m staring out of my window watching tiny, faint images of birds darting back and forth from tree to tree, and listening to the sounds of my co-worker getting ready to leave. I get up and walk to where he is.
“I think I have everything.” he said and wraps his arms around me.
“I’ll see you in a little while.” I smile. “You know how to get to work right?”
“Yeah. That’s North Highland isn‘t it?” he points to the left.
“Yup!”
“Ok, I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.”
I get dressed and head over to San Francisco Coffee. I’m there for half an hour when my phone rings. It’s my sponsor. Oh damn! I’m supposed to meet her at Starbucks in fifteen minutes. Completely forgot!
“Hey girl! Just making sure we’re still on for this morning.” she says when I pick up.
“Oh yeah!” I smile.
“Ok, I’m gonna be about five minutes late.”
“No worries!”
We hang up and I head over there thinking I’m going to be jacked drinking another cup of coffee but maybe I need it after 4ish hours of sleep.
I’m there for a few minutes before her. I haven’t seen her in two or three weeks.
“Hey!” she exclaims and hugs me hard.
“Hi darlin’!”
She sits down in front of me.
“So what’s up? How ya been?” she props her face on her hands.
I’m immediately overwhelmed. There is so much I want to say to her, so many directions I want to go in and I don’t know how to start.
“You know how in recovery sometimes things move so slowly you wonder if anything is happening and other times they move at the speed of light?”
She nods.
“I’m in the speed of light stage again right now.”
“Good!”
“It’s so amazing but it’s blowing my mind. It’s going too fast for me to figure it out and let it sink in.”
“That’s ok.”
“I have this need to gain a better understanding of the Steps and try to do better with the whole thing, all while learning from my co-worker and how to just be there for him and losing the desire to control him.”
She nods. I email her every day with what I ate and the exercise I did for the day plus I sometimes write to her about what’s going on in my life. I have learned that I have some control issues. I want to push my co-worker into recovery but it’s not my decision to make and it’s killing me to stay on the sidelines watching and hoping he “gets it” before something awful happens.
“At some point you will need to redefine what your abstinence means to you. That changes a lot as well.” she tells me.
I nod. I’m scared of this. Right now my abstinence is no binging. I know that at some point, it will have to be absolutely no compulsive eating. No running to the store when I’m anxious to tear into cookies, no looking for food when I’m bored, and absolutely no mindless eating just because it’s “there”. All those things might be harder to kick than the binging. I binged for a year, and have been ‘sober’ from that for 8 months. I’ve eaten mindlessly for 8 years now. It’s going to be harder.
My head is everywhere and I still can’t fully grasp everything I feel I need to tell her. I look at the phone and “10:00” is displayed across the screen.
“Dammit, I have to go. I left my work stuff at home and have to get it.” I tell her.
“Ok. One more thing. I need you to try and get to at least two meetings a week and try Al Anon if you can to help with dealing with your co-worker.”
“Deal.” I smile. OA has definitely taken a backseat to everything else lately.
We leave and I get to work. My day goes smoothly but I’m still having trouble staying awake. I get to leave a little early and down another cup of coffee. I go home and write until my friend Shannon comes over. We’re going on a little adventure to Dick’s Sporting Goods in Buckhead to get…roller blades. Hehe.
Once we figure out where they are in the massive store we each grab a pair in our size, sit down and put them on. Kids are everywhere testing out bicycles. Neither of us have put on skates in years. I’m terrified of wiping out or running into one of these kids.
This rollerblade thing started when we were walking through Piedmont park and saw this girl with a perfect body flying by us on her roller blades looking like she was having the time of her life. My shins need relief from running so this is looking quite fun.
“You ready?” Shannon laughs.
“Uh huh!”
And off we go, making a tentative two laps around the store. Once we got back to where we were sitting she asks “Are we going to do this?”
“Oh yeah! I’m excited!”
We take off the roller blades and start trying on wrist guards. I decide to grab some knee guards as well, remembering how badly I’ve already jacked them up. Oddly enough, we decide against helmets…My head might get busted but my knees are gonna look good!
Once everything is paid for we head back to my house so I can change into shorts and a t-shirt before heading to Piedmont park. I’m still deliriously tired but giddy to try this new endeavor.
There is a small parking lot in the park but it’s full by the time we get there. I notice several South Carolina car tags mixed in with the many Georgia ones and it makes me smile.
“Hey look at that girl!” Shannon points to a girl on black roller blades flying passed us as we turn around to exit. She’s wearing sleek black pants, and a burgundy sports bra over her perfect body.
“That’ll be us in no time!” I laugh.
We park on a side street and put on our skates. I hang on to Shannon’s car as I make my way around to the driver’s side where she’s still getting situated.
“I’m so excited!” I giggle.
“I’m a little scared.” she replied.
“Oh I’m terrified but mostly excited!” I laugh.
She closes her door and we take off. Neither of us realized we were going to be heading down a slight hill that would take us to the main road into the park. We start coasting down this seemingly harmless hill. She’s moving faster than me.
“I can’t stop!” she calls out to me as she heads for the main road turning at the corner. Thank God there were no cars coming. I wasn’t so lucky.
“Me either! Shannon! I’m gonna hit a car!” I squeal as my body slams into the rear end of a parked Mitsubishi Eclipse. Oh damn. Ow.
Shannon’s waiting for me but I’m not sure how I’m going to get over to her without falling. I gingerly hang on to everyone’s cars until I can reach a stop sign.
“I don’t know how to get there.” I exclaim. “I don’t want to turn that corner.”
Some little old ladies are crossing the street.
“Do you need help dear?” one of them asks.
“Yes ma’am.” I laugh, turning 18 shades of red. This little old lady is going to help me across the street. Feels a little backwards…
She takes me to Shannon. I grab her hand and we slowly roll over these metal things that give me a minor heart attack each time we hit one.
Once we’re clear and passed those and any vehicular traffic I let go of her. Like baby farm animals learning to walk, we’re each taking one step at a time trying to figure this out. An ambulance is sounding off in the far distance.
“They might be on their way for us.” Shannon laughs.
I laugh and move faster trying to catch up with her.
“I like it, I like it!” I exclaim, wanting to clap my hands but I don’t feel I can multitask right now.
“Yeah. My hips are hurting though.”
“Oh me too.”
We circle the park three times before deciding to call it a night. We make plans to do it again on Tuesday. I can’t wait. I’m so excited that I may just try it again tomorrow…

Cemetery...

I’m finishing up my last client when my co-worker walks up to me.
“Hey, do you have plans tonight?” he asks.
“Nope.”
“Wanna do something?”
“I do.” I smile.
“Ok, we’ll talk when you’re done.”
I pack up my station once my client leaves. He walks over to me.
“I was thinking maybe we could go back to the Oakland Cemetery.”
“That would be fabulous!” I lit up. We decided to meet back at the salon in an hour.
At home, I change into jeans and a t-shirt and contemplate getting coffee but decide against it.
He and I meet at the salon and decide he’ll drive.
“What do you think about getting some Mexican at that little place across from the cemetery first?” he asks.
“You read my mind! One of my clients told me that place was awesome.”
“Perfect!”
On the way over we talk about our day while simultaneously playing with pieces of our hair. He twirls a tiny section at his crown and I bend my ends at the nape of my neck. I am known at the salon for raking my fingers through my co-worker’s hair. I’ve done this since the beginning of my career. It calms me down. His is one of my favorite heads of hair aside from Monique’s and Sarah’s. I almost ask him if I could play with his hair but don’t. I think about Rob for a little bit. I would rub the back of his head while he drove us to where ever. He’d always smile and say “I love you lovin on me.”
We pull into the restaurant and go in. It’s a tiny little spot that looks like it’s decorated for Cinco de Mayo. In no time we’ve both settled into quesadillas and enchiladas as the sun begins to go down.
“So what do you think?” he asks once we’re stuffed. “Do you want to head over to the cemetery now or wait a little while?”
“Hmm. I just don’t want to be there with the sun blazing. I don’t mind either way. Did you have something else you wanted to do in mind?”
“No, not really.”
“Let’s just go over there then.” I smile.
“Yeah, it’ll get dark soon anyway.”
We park on a side street and walk over. The temperature has dropped and a slight breeze is floating by.
“Maybe we should see a movie later.” he suggests.
“Absolutely! A scary one!” I giggle.
“Oh yeah!”
We walk through a huge iron gate and onto the brick lined pathway. Since Rob died I’ve been somewhat scared of and fascinated by cemeteries. This one is especially beautiful and creepy all at the same time.
“Let’s go over there.” he points to the right.
I walk behind him as we wind around the headstones, stopping every now and then to read them. Many are from the 1800’s. We come across more children than we’d care to see. I’m curious as to what took the lives of so many babies and toddlers.
A couple of headstones are so intricately beautiful that we stop to stare extra long at them. One in particular has me mesmerized with it’s perfectly sculpted flowers around a cross and crown. It belongs to a woman who died in the early 1900’s. I wonder who she was, what she was like and what she did with her life.
“Hey let’s go look at that one!” he piped up.
I quickly follow him to this structure that resembles an arch. There are 6 people stacked in. Three on one side, three on the other. The design of the structure keeps the weather from wearing away the engraving on the graves. On the “ceiling” of this one is the same cross and crown with flowers around it. We decide this is definitely a favorite. He snaps a picture of me smiling down at him from inside the thing with his camera phone.
The sun drops further as we meander along various paths, peering into several different locked structures that house families that have long passed. Small stained glass pictures line some of the walls of these places. You can only see them if you peek in.
“I want to show you where the confederate soldiers are buried.” he tells me and we head in that direction. After walking along that path he finds an enormous sculpture of a crying lion laying on a confederate flag.
“This is my favorite thing in here.” he tells me. “How do you even do that?”
“No idea.”
He asks if I want to check out the Jewish section.
“Absolutely!”
For whatever reason the Jewish people are packed in very tightly and have they’re own place. We carefully walk around the rows and rows of various families, most headstones are written in both English and Hebrew. I stop at a sign and begin reading about the Jewish people buried here. I barely make it passed the first sentence when I ask him to come over with me. We’re standing next to each other reading, when something moves behind us. We look at each other and freeze.
“What was that?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” he whispers back and we both take off in another direction.
A little while later the sun has completely gone away and the city has lit up behind the cemetery. He entertains me with stories about his life as we wander. I take in the atmosphere and his words. We’re both quiet for a while until he points up and says “Look. Bats.”
“Wow.” I watch the little critters swoop down and back up again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of those.”
We make it back to the entrance of the cemetery and leave, deciding to come back again.
“Where to now?” he says once we’re in the car.
“You still want to see a movie?”
“I do. Let’s head over there.”
While buying tickets to the “Pineapple Express” we run into two of his good friends who were former co-workers of ours. We’re all seeing the same movie and sit together. It felt good to laugh for two hours but both of us are dragging by the time we leave.
We’re quiet on the way back to the salon to where my car is waiting for me.
“I had fun tonight.” he says before hugging me.
“I did too! Thank you! I‘ll see you in the morning.” I smile and climb out of the car.
“Hey.” he says and gets out too. “Do you think it would be ok if I crashed on your couch?”
“Of course!” I laugh. “I’m ten minutes from here.”
“Ok, I’ll just follow you.”
Once we’re parked we walk up my driveway.
“Your house is cute.” he says.
“Thank you.” I push the key in the lock and unlock the door.
Once inside he walks through each room, investigating the tiniest details, stopping at my room. “Um. Can I see your room?” he asks.
“Yeah, go ahead.” I nod.
“Wow. I like your easel.” he smiles when he turns on the light. It’s propped up in a corner. I haven’t used it in quite some time.
“Thank you! Mom gave that to me a while back.” I smile.
“You’ve got a really great place here.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
We walk into the living room. He sits on the recliner and I curl up on the couch, cold all the sudden. We talk a while before deciding to sit outside.
“You sit out here much?” he asks.
“I don’t actually. Prolly should.” I reply sitting on the steps next to him.
“It’s great out here.”
“Hm mm.” I nod.
We continue talking until three in the morning. He has to be up before me. My eyes are heavy but my mind is racing.
“We should probably get to sleep.” he says after I yawn.
“Yeah.” I smile. “Um…may I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Would you be ok with sleeping next to me while I play with your hair?” I try not to wince as the words come out of my mouth. I feel awkward asking such a thing but I’d just feel better knowing he was next to me.
“Is that all we’d be doing?” he stared at me and this catches me off guard.
“Um, well. That depends…”I trail off but hold his eye contact while my toes squeeze together from the nervousness.
He nods. “Because that’s all I want to have happen. I mean, I don’t want things to get weird but I’m not up for doing anything else. Is that ok?”“Of course.” I smile, almost relieved in a weird way. He’s not going to use me.
I let this sink in as we both get ready for bed in separate rooms. I am so used to being a relentless flirt, mistaking attention from men and sex for love that being anything else is rather difficult. I have not maintained a friendship with someone I’m attracted to without something physical happening. So here I am, turning out the light and climbing into bed with someone I deeply admire to just simply sleep.
It’s so dark, I can’t see anything. My hand finds his head though. The heat radiating from his body is immense and I think of Rob and how I used to call him my ‘space heater’. My feet are freezing and I’d love to defrost them on my co-worker’s legs like I did with Rob, laughing when he’d yell at how cold they were, but I don’t move them. I run my fingers over his scalp, letting his hair slip through my fingers. His breathing is soft and even. I wonder if he’s asleep. Over and over my hands travel over his head and through his hair, my forearm resting on his back. I think about how at the most interesting time his path has crossed mine again and we’ve found ourselves in somewhat similar situations with our ‘habits’ and are able to be open with each other. Rob was the only man I was ever really able to open up to. Now with him gone I feel trapped between being scared to be open again and getting over that while moving forward with a mentality that I am secure in who I am and if it doesn’t work for you then I gotta go. It’s all easier said than done.
My fingers begin to move slower and slower through his hair until I’m barely aware that they’ve curled around a fistful of it as I finally fall asleep.

Lovin'...

I was about to perform an exorcism on my car when my phone rang. It’s 10am on Thursday, already 1,000 degrees outside and if the possessed car alarm demon fairy who has sucked the life out of my brand new battery doesn’t stop right this minute I’m gonna blow the whole thing up.
“Hi!” I squeal into the phone while still giving the car (who is still delivering half hearted chirps) the evil eye.
“Hey sweetie.” My co-worker Matthew smiled on the other end. “How’s the car?”
“Well. I can’t find the fuse box we talked about yesterday and the alarm went off AGAIN when I shut the driver’s door. Sooo… there must be a little juice left in the battery. I just don‘t know what to do now.”
“Ok. You still want me to come over and take a look?” he asks.
“Yes please.” I sigh.
“Alright. See you in a little bit.”I hang up the phone and retreat back into the air conditioning.
One hour later…
“Sweetie, I don’t know.” Matthew sighed, sitting in the passenger seat of my car.
Both doors are open and so is the hood. I’m holding on to the owner’s manual, sitting in the grass next to him.
“I don’t know either.” I shut the manual. “Let’s jump the thing and take it to the shop near work.”
“Aw! I hate for you to do that.” he stands. I do the same and we walk over to the exposed engine. “I know it’s a simple little thing. We just have to find the fuse.”
“Yeah…” I lean over the edge, peering at the guts that make the machine I depend on so much operate. “I just want it back.”
“I know. I’ll get my jumper cables.”
I call the shop to make sure they can disable the alarm.
“Oh, this happens all the time!” Missy exclaimed when I told her what was happening.
Huh. Really. Why does everyone laugh when I tell them about driving while the alarm is screaming instead of commiserating with me? J
We miraculously make it to the shop without so much as a peep out of the alarm. That bitch knows she’s headed for death. On the way, I silently ask Rob ‘why is my car choosing to blow up and you’re not here to work your magic?’ I smile to myself and think ‘you’re laughing at me aren’t you?’ I look over to a row of parked cars and see a South Carolina tag on a white Mercedes.
Once the car was in the shop, Matthew took me home.
“Thank you for being amazing!” I hug him hard, so very grateful he took the time to come out.
“Anytime! Have a good day!”
I quickly got ready for work and took Gordon’s car.
Two hours later, Cheyenne walks over while I’m blow drying my client telling me the shop called and the car is ready. “They’ll bring it by when they close. Is that ok?” she asks.
“Absolutely!”
By the time I finished my last client I was ready to crawl out of my skin. I suddenly felt I was unable to talk anymore. I haven’t been on a run in three days and my anxiety level has reached new heights all the sudden. I quickly pack up and take Gordon’s car home, put on my running clothes and run back to work to get my car. I make it there in a record 26 minutes.
I’m still trying to figure out what it is about running that puts me on top of the world. My mind can go to the most spectacular places. Sometimes, I go crazy fast, and other days I can barely go. I still manage to find time for it. I don’t make many excuses not to, even when I should.
The drive home is lovely. There was no delay in the engine starting. I’m finally calm.
I stay awake reading once I‘m showered and in bed. My eyes are heavy but I really want to finish this one last story. The author writes short stories based on her life experiences. Most of them have me laughing out loud. Every now and then she throws in a super sweet one or a sad one. I’m tangled up in a sad one right now about the loss of her dog. Even though she no longer had her she still walked the same path every day that she did when the dog was alive. One day she came across a random woman with a Golden Retriever. She asked her if she could pet the dog, explaining she had just lost hers.
This. This is what I was feeling when I was with my co-worker last night but was unable to understand. It’s what I wanted to say to him. “Can I just hold your hand? The one that used to reach for mine is gone and I miss that.” I didn’t say anything though.
I finish the story and close the book, staring at the ceiling. My mind replays a conversation we had once we sat down at dinner yesterday. He said he cared a lot about what I thought about him.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I think you’re a good person. I have a lot of respect for you and I like you.” he replied.
I didn’t know what to say to that. It kills me to say that I believe he has these thoughts but I don’t know why. I’m unable to grasp the concept of respect and what it means. I don’t often feel like a good person.
I got out of bed, turned the light off and went to sleep.
I wake up just before my alarm goes off and go through my usual routine of eating oatmeal and going to Inman Perk. I have an intense craving for cookies and San Francisco Coffee’s chocolate chip pumpkin bread all at the same time.
“Don’t do it.” I tell myself while sitting at a traffic light. If I go straight, I’ll be at Inman Perk in no time. If I make a slight detour when the light changes, I could get cookies and briefly soothe my little anxious mind, if only for a moment before the guilt sets in.
Before I have another thought I text my sponsor. “I’m not getting cookies or pumpkin bread today.” I hit send and the light turned green. I go straight. Let’s see how long I can go today without hurting myself.
My second client is a woman I met in a coffee shop when I first started working at Salonred. I adore her bubbly personality and her massive amounts of hair. Rob had been gone three weeks when I last saw her.
“Hi!” She wrapped me up in a huge hug.
“Hey darlin’!” I’m beaming.
“How are you? Well, I mean, I know how you are. I read your blog, but…”
“I’m good.” I laugh, remembering she’s able to read what I write but forgetting she actually does. I’m deeply flattered.
“I just want you to know you’re awesome. OK? You are so awesome.” she nods at me.
My eyes fill up. I wasn’t expecting to cry when I saw her today but I feel so…special? Is that the right word? I don’t know, I feel something overwhelmingly fabulous and it’s brought tears to my eyes.
She hugs me again and tells me not to cry. How do I tell her what I’ve felt the past few days? There isn’t enough time in her appointment to explain how touched I’ve been by so many people lately, and I don’t think they have a clue. How do I tell her that I’m trying so hard to put the food down when it’s hardest right now and in return I’m actually able to feel love? It’s the one thing I’m looking the hardest for when I stumble upon some food instead. Eating happens faster than the receiving of love sometimes.
That doesn’t even scratch the surface though. There is so much more floating around in my head that I want to get out but I don’t understand it just yet. I’m trying to be patient…

Drained...

I want to dive face first into a cheesecake and it’s not even noon yet. I went rummaging around in my computer this morning and came across some stuff I haven’t seen in a while. Looking through it took me back to a time that I thought I was over but maybe not. Dark feelings of being completely and utterly ashamed washed over me. I remember telling Rob about this little piece of my life. When I was done talking he wrapped me up in a huge hug and reminded me that he loved me anyway and he was sorry all of it happened. I have to keep hanging on to that memory to keep from getting sucked too far into the icky stuff.
At work my energy is sucked out of me faster than I can blink upon arriving. I feel knocked down and I can’t stand up again. There is a gap in my day that leaves too much room for meandering thoughts, and guilt trips. In my mind I think I can take on whatever, I can handle any feelings that might come up but the reality is, I can’t. The sooner I can recognize that, the sooner I can move forward. Of course my inpatient self thinks it’s not happening soon enough so I think I’ll eat a cookie…
Work ends and I go dinner with a co-worker. I’ve felt drawn to him since I met him but never got too close, never getting involved in what looked like a complicated life. Until he told me about a habit of his that seemed to carry the emotional weight of my eating disorder did I decide to open up and in return, he did the same.
All through dinner we talked and talked and talked about what it was like, engaging in food (for me) and otherwise. (for him) We talked about all the highs and lows of doing it, coming off of it and the feelings that followed plus the feelings that sparked it to begin with. Stuff came out of me that I didn’t anticipate sharing. He looked me in the face the whole time. He made me feel like a human and not the freak show I often feel like for being hooked on something that should be used solely to keep me alive.
We left dinner and went for a walk. I wanted to walk through Oakland Cemetery. They lock that shit up tight so we walked around the perimeter, stopping to climb up on the wall to peer over the edge. I wondered what we looked like from the street, me in a silk dress and heels, him with shaggy hair, jeans and a fitted button up shirt, looking like we were going to climb over this brick fence.
“What happens if we climb over?” I giggle.
“I dunno. If we get caught we might get arrested for trespassing.” he replied and jumped down.
“We can’t have that now!” I laughed. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“Could you see us calling Monique asking her to bail us out?” he laughed.
I am feeling up for an adventure though. Being with him feels completely safe and comfortable. I guess I’m looking for a rush that will take my mind off wanting to chew on my arm.
The air is stuffy and gross as we walk up and down the street that lines one side of the cemetery. I want to reach out and touch him. I’m too scared of crossing any lines, afraid of his reaction or what I’ll feel. I’ve never felt this before. I desperately want to devour every bit of him. I want to give him every bit of love I have, still dangling out in thin air from being cut off when Rob left.
I don’t do anything though, or say anything. Before I know it, we’re back in the car. We decide to go to the Krog street bridge where all the graffiti is. Once parked we walk down a hill and over to the one spot where it’s ok to paint graffiti. He tells me various stories in between silent moments where all you could hear were the sounds of our shoes walking on concrete under the bridge. It’s tiny little pieces of life like these that I wish I could hang on to forever. Sure the big huge moments in life carry a lot of weight but I think the tiny things should too.
When we walk back to the car we head to Candler Park to Fellini’s. Once inside we talk over lemonade mixed with Sprite. Both of us continue our stories about our “habits”, about how it all got started, what we were like when we were little and so on…I told him about Rob and how I feel I’m shattered into 4,000 pieces and feel some people have backed away because they don’t know what to do with me and it hurts more than anything. He said the same thing about some people not calling him to hang out anymore because he’s fucked up one too many times.
This is the tricky part. How do you love someone unconditionally (friend or otherwise) when what they carry around with them affects the relationship you have with them? I don’t know how to let go of the desire to control him and make him stop hurting himself.
It’s really late when he drops me off at my car. We decide to hang out again soon. I offer to let him stay at my place being he has a long drive home. He declines saying he needs to get back now. I don’t feel comfortable without him next to me all the sudden once I’m in my car. He’s driven off to leave me with all the shit that’s in my head. I don’t want to be alone but I didn’t want to tell him that. I wanted to go to sleep knowing he was next to me.
At home I park the car and turn off the ignition. When everything was quiet the weight of today pushed the tears down my face. I don’t even know why I’m crying.
When I can breathe again, I go inside only to lay awake until God knows when…

Friends...

“Whatcha thinkin? Lucas asked me as we walked along West Peachtree street, across 17th. It’s Friday night and we’re on our way to Center Stage to watch some Muay Thai action that my favorite client Stuart is promoting. This is the first time I’ve seen Lucas in a year. Wanting to both support Stuart and see Lucas I decided to combine everything into one evening.
The question catches me off guard and I’m not sure how to answer it. I look over at him.
“Why do you ask?”
“I dunno. Curious.”
“Hmm. I guess I’m not really thinking anything.” I reply.
Before he asked me, memories I thought I forgot about were flooding my head. There is an old building next to Center Stage where I signed my first lease. It was 2002 and I had just turned twenty. I spent a year there fighting my way home after work every weekend through the crowds the venue brought. Still, I loved the little space I shared with a satanic kitten beneath another little space occupied by a co-worker who was very dear to me. Many nights were spent at each other’s places gossiping, laughing hysterically, and sharing intimate details of our lives.
Fast forwarding six years, never did I imagine that I’d be walking along this familiar street again with a friend I didn’t know existed at the time to support a client I didn’t know I’d have, all while trying to distract myself from this gaping hole of grief I thought I’d never fall into.
That seemed to be a lengthy answer to his question so I didn’t share it. We were already at the door anyways.
A few hours later we were exiting agreeing we both had a blast. The stifling heat of the afternoon had dropped leaving the still mugginess of a typical southern summer night. Walking to his car we decide to go to Apres Diem for dessert.
Sitting across from him in a corner sharing a chocolate/red velvet layered cake that was (in most cases) better than sex I decided to ask him random questions about what happens to the body once the life is gone from it. (Lucas is a chiropractor and has taken more anatomy classes than I can remember.) I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this whole death experience. I’m not sure what I’m looking for in asking all this but I keep firing away until I’m out of questions.
We’re quiet for a moment when he asks, “Anything you want to talk about?”
Yes.
“No.” I take my eyes off his and let them wander around the room. His are still on mine when I return. “I mean, I want to talk, I just don’t know how to say what’s in my head because I don’t understand it. I thought writing would help and it does, but it still doesn’t scratch the surface.”
He nods. Neither of us say anything. If I just start talking, maybe something useful will happen. Maybe by unloading on him I’ll be able to make some sense of whatever this is. He’ll listen. He said he would. He’s like a huge blank canvas for me to paint on in any way I like and yet I seem to have lost my favorite color and my will to find it. Unloading on him seems to be too much effort so I keep it all to myself.
We leave shortly after. He takes me home and I fall into bed only to lay awake swimming in thoughts until sleep finally shuts them out.
I wake up to my alarm a mere four hours later. On my way to work I grab a strong cup of coffee and hope my make-up doesn’t melt off my face as I walk into the building.
Work is good. Everyone has great hair and they’re all on time and in good moods. I just downed cup of coffee number two when Jhoni comes back to the break room to tell me Amy is here.
“Hi!” I squeal and hug her hard. I met Amy at Van Michael. We became friends immediately after her first haircut with me.
“Hi sweetie, how are you?”
“Good. Come on over.”
Amy decides to change her hair. I hope my caffinated hands stop shaking long enough to get through it. A few days ago at the most perfect time (I was rather upset) she sent me a text message thanking me for listening to her the other night when we got together. “You mean so much to me. I’m so happy to have you in my life. I love you.”
I slide my comb down the back of her head and say “Thank you for your text message the other day.” I can’t look her in the face all the sudden out of fear I’m going to lose my shit and start crying.
“Of course!”
“No really. It meant a lot and… I’m really lucky to have you.”
“Aw! I am too!” she smiled.
“I haven’t forgotten what you said after your mother died.” I glance at her then back at the section of hair I’m cutting. Her mother died two years ago. “You know, when you said the people that you thought would be there weren’t, but people you thought wouldn’t care, cared the most.”
“Absolutely. It’s so true.”
“I couldn’t imagine it though, and now that it’s happened to me, I’m experiencing it and it hurts a lot.”
“I know.”
We go into more details of her mother’s death and the events that followed. It’s taking everything I’ve got not to cry. It’s not that she would care, it’s I’m at work and I work very hard to stay perfectly composed at all times.
We agree to get together soon as I finish her hair. My work day ends eventually. As I drive home, I decide I will try my hardest to hang on to my gratitude for the company I’ve shared with people following Rob’s death, and work a little harder on letting everything else go.