How It Ends...

I read, saw, heard somewhere a saying that went something like “when you meet someone you’ll know the reasons why you’ll leave them.” I knew on that very first date that this wouldn’t work because I couldn’t get underneath his surface and he didn’t seem to be trying to get under mine. I stayed though. I enjoyed his company, he made me laugh. I wanted to see what would happen. I almost wanted to prove myself wrong. I took the long road around this revelation with him by my side, trying to escape it, traveling in and out of each day to end up where I knew I would in the beginning complete with the same feelings but some experience, some happiness, and some hard stuff all wrapped in one package. This is how it ends…
Charlie was in Orlando this past week. He was coming home on Friday. I was working at Lincoln Park all week.
“Meliss, my birthday is Friday!” my fellow assistant Seven exclaims to me on Tuesday morning while we’re tearing foil for the colorists.
“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do?”
“I dunno. Prolly a bar and maybe some dancing.” she ripped her foil and placed it in a stack that we were both contributing to. “Wanna come?”
“Of course!” I heard myself reply. This took me by surprise. I hate going out on Saturdays. I avoid it at all costs. After a long day of work, I typically like to go home and do something quiet.
“Is Charlie in town?” she asks.
“No, but he will be this weekend.”
“Do you think he’ll come too?”
“I dunno. Regardless, I’m coming.” I reply, again, surprised at my words.
When I talked to Charlie later in the week he said he’d be in Wisconsin with his best friend on Saturday. I didn’t know if he was spending the night or not and didn’t think to ask at the time.
“I need to go to the gym on Sunday. Wanna come with me?” I ask him, determined to keep my promise to myself to lift weights three times a week.
“Yeah, if Scott doesn’t work me too hard.”
Somehow, when I imagined Sunday, I didn’t see myself in the gym, but in a yoga class I’ve wanted to take for some time now but haven’t made the time for it. I also couldn’t see Charlie in the picture on that day. This made me nervous. I felt like this when Rob died. I couldn’t imagine the rest of our day together when he left to go to Robby’s the day that he died.
I later emailed Charlie and asked him about coming with me to Seven’s outing. He didn’t respond but I figured we’d talk about it later. Again, the same feeling of him not being there on Saturday crept into my head. Despite my nervousness at not knowing what this was, I felt calm, like something was with me and somewhere, deep down, I knew that whatever it was, it had me and everything would be ok.
On Friday morning I woke up and did my usual morning routine of breakfast, email, gym, and writing. While getting ready for work, I kept hearing things around my apartment. It was as if small objects like my keys or something were shifting ever so slightly…just enough to make a barely audible noise, but definite enough to where I didn’t question what it was. I heard it. I didn’t feel scared, just a little crazy wondering if my mind was making it up or not. Flashes of shadows raced pasted my peripheral vision. Every time I turned to see what it was that was grabbing my attention, nothing was there. I feel insane even writing this, but I swear this stuff is happening and it’s Rob. I feel that something is shifting around in my mind today. There is something that is letting go, completely detaching, but I don’t know what it’s letting go of. It’s impossible to write about and fully explain, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it’s real.
I get to work and race around like usual. Charlie is landing at 5:15pm. I’m closing alone and will be done at 8pm. The feelings of him not being with me this weekend are getting stronger but I don’t know why and don’t understand what’s sparking this. The only thing I can come up with is that he’ll choose to do what he wants while I choose to not tag along with him and finally do something for myself. It’s like I suddenly see that he’s there regardless of what I’m doing or not doing. If I don’t trust that I’m going to lose my mind in the long run. My reasoning for putting things off when he’s in town is to spend as much time as possible with him because he’ll be gone again and when he is, I can catch up on other things. It’s creating a lack of balance in my life though. That’s what my conscious mind has come up with. The subconscious knows I’m behaving this way because I’m waiting and waiting, hoping that he’ll suddenly wake up one of these days and realize that he wants me and I’d like to be present for that moment. It never occurred to me that I could leave. I could walk away. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid that if I walk away, it might be a mistake. I’ll never know though because I know me. I won’t. Some sick part of me loves the uphill battle of something that isn’t completely right but maybe not completely wrong…
Seven and I are working together again today and she has more details about her birthday. Definitely grabbing drinks at one place and moving to another to go dancing. Sounds good to me. I haven’t been dancing in so long.
At 6pm, I notice I haven’t heard from Charlie. I had texted him earlier saying I couldn’t wait to see him. I’m feeling agitated and negative. I’m wanting some sort of emotion from him. I want to know that he can’t wait to see me as well. Is it that he can wait, or is it that he’s not capable of saying such things? I text him and ask if he landed. He says yes and says that he’ll pick me up from work. I’m ecstatic. I think about texting him something sweet, but something stops me. I need to go to the grocery store. I text him and he doesn’t want to go so I decide I’ll go anyway and meet him when I’m done.
I wipe down the shampoo bowls in the color department, grab my lotion and gloves and walk down the stairs. I’m the only one up there. As I’m walking down, the lights flicker ever so slightly.
“Honey?” I feel myself saying to Rob.
I clean the stylist’s floor, grab my things and clock out. I walk to the store, inhaling the clean, crisp air. It feels good to walk. As I finish up at the store, I start to feel irritated, knowing that I’ll want to bounce off the walls when I get to Charlie’s and he…well, he won’t. This squashes my bounciness and pushes it down so far into some place I can’t identify and produces some nastiness that pours out of me like acid making me quiet and standoffish because I’m scared. Always damn scared of being too much for him and of being not enough all at the same time.
Nothing is normal right now. Nothing feels right. Charlie meets me on Division as I walk to his place. He’s in a bad mood. I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t explain until we walk in to his apartment and the door is closed.
I’m going to keep the contents of our conversation private. While talking though, I feel for a split second my mind racing toward him saying “No, no, no, don’t leave.” but then it stops because he’s already gone. I don’t even know if he was ever here to begin with.
There is intense heaviness sitting on my chest. The air is being sucked out of my lungs, but somewhere some tiny little window in my head is open now and letting out all the negative craziness I’ve carried with me all this time. I can almost feel my displaced self esteem returning.
It isn’t easy though. It isn’t easy to hear, say or admit. I can’t feel or show any emotion at the moment. I know that I need to cry, I need to tear the wall down but it feels impossible. The feeling is familiar though and I know it’ll pass. I don’t want to entirely compare this feeling to learning about Rob’s death but being my current relationship is ending and I’ll have to grieve it’s loss, it’s stressful, takes my breath away and all the feelings associated with loss, for me, are flooding back. There isn’t enough air in the universe to fill my lungs at the moment.
We’re staring at each other in between expressed thoughts. I soak up his expression and feel it’s reflecting more emotion in this moment than I’ve seen from him in nearly nine months. The lights of the city outside his window are still sparkling, the cars are still racing by, but I’m unable to move.
“Get up.” I tell myself. There isn’t anything left to say.
I stand and push my feet back into my shoes. I remind him that I left one of my jackets in his room. He goes to get it while I pull my coat on. I stare out of the window again, remembering him walking up behind me one night while I was standing there and asking, “are you watching the city?”
I nodded and continued, mesmerized by the combined stillness and movement.
I remember I left my contact solution and a necklace in the bathroom. I go to get it, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, before quickly turning and walking out.
Charlie is in the living room and hands me my jacket. He moves forward and hugs me. I feel my arms squeeze him back but I feel nothing. I am completely, totally, and utterly numb.
“Can I walk you home?” he asks.
I nod.
I think about the time he walked me home the night of our first date. We stopped at my gate, he kissed me and said he had a good time and that he’d call me later.
We’re again, at my gate. He hugs me, tells me he still cares very much for me and he’s still… here.
“Me too.” I reply and he walks away.
The reality of the situation rushes at me faster than lightning as I push my key into the door. I woke up this morning in a relationship and I’m going to sleep single. I don’t want to stop moving. I don’t want to sit still, afraid the hurt will catch me. If I don’t stop I know I’m only prolonging the inevitable. I can’t out run it that’s for sure.
In bed I listen to my heart pound and watch images in my head race passed until I don’t remember anything else…

Connection...

Each time I think about writing this entry, I get stuck. I end up staring at the screen and hope something comes into my head as to where to start. I thought about scratching the whole thing completely and writing about something else but the idea won’t leave me alone. Bear with me please as I stumble around trying to figure it out. I’ll start with what I know for sure and see what happens from there.
Lately, or maybe it’s been for a long time and I’ve chosen not to see it, I’ve been craving a connection with another human being. Not only do I crave it, but I’m somehow pushing it away at the same time because I’ve gotten lost in a forest of craziness unable to accept the help that’s being offered. On some level I want to believe that I don’t need anyone else. It’s uncomfortable for me to ask for help, to ask to be pulled out of the forest and see the light. Maybe I’m not ready to face the light. It’s quite possible that keeping my eyes closed to everything I’ve wandered into is way easier than cracking open my swollen, busted, painful eyelids and let some light in, let it heal my corneas so I can see straight again. I don’t want to do the work. This darkness I’ve settled into is delicious is the best way.
The assistant schedule comes out one week and I see that I’m working Evanston and on Wednesday, I’m off early. The idea of OA works it’s way to the forefront of my mind and when I get home from work that night I pull up the weekly meeting schedule. There is a 7pm meeting in the Lincoln Park area on Wednesdays. I figure out public transit from Evanston and see that I can make it.
I’m excited about this opportunity. I know that no matter what, I’ll be able to connect in ways I normally don’t with other people. I’m hoping that once I’m there I’ll be able to talk, to share and find some sort of relief.
Wednesday comes and I’m out of work on time. I catch the train and head south. I’m getting nervous once I get off the train and start walking. I hope I’m going in the right direction. Despite my nervousness at doing something new there is absolutely nothing that would keep me from going and having this experience tonight. Even if it were raining sideways or I got insanely lost, I would find my way. Where is this determination in other areas of my life? Imagine what could be accomplished if I put forth effort and drive like this into all areas of my life.
I find a non-descript building possessing the address I’m looking for. I push the buzzer and hear the door unlock. I pull it open and walk gingerly up the stairs and down a hallway. I find the room number and walk through the door.
I’m met with smiles by a group of twenty or so people. I smile back, sit down and exhale. I want to know every person in the room. I want to hear all their stories and share mine. For the first time in I don’t know how long my lungs are filled with much needed air. I didn’t know I was lacking oxygen.
As the meeting begins and the minutes pass I absorb everyone’s thoughts, fears and stories. I relate to every single one on some level or another. Relief washes over me and I don’t feel so scared or self conscious.
When it ends I do get a little shy though and quietly walk out the door without saying anything. “I have to come back.” I think to myself. I’m not sure how to make it happen with my erratic schedule but it has to happen.
On the train I see that I’ve missed a call from Charlie. I get off at a stop close to home and call him back.
“Are you coming over?” he asks.
“I can.” I reply.
“I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not.”
Part of me wants to be, part of me wants to see him simply because it’s comfortable, it’s what I normally do now, and yes some company would be nice despite my sudden agitation.
“I’m walking up Milwaukee and will be passing Lovely soon.”
“Ok, I’ll come out and meet you.” he says before we hang up.
A smile inevitably spreads across my face when I see him at the door. Nervous energy floods my system.
“Hey. How are you?”
I shrug. “How are you?”
“Good.”
In his apartment I want to tell him about the meeting but it somehow doesn’t feel important. He’s explained to me many times that he’s here for me, that he needs me to talk and I’m desperate to do so but there’s this huge wall I keep running into. Over and over when I try to speak, try to share, I hit my head on the wall. I’ve done it so many times that the mere idea of talking hurts and so I remain quiet.
Remaining quiet only results in further aggravation. It boils underneath my surface. I try to keep a lid on it, try to sit on the lid to keep it from bubbling over but sometimes the weight of my intent is too light to keep the lid shut and irritation oozes out beneath it infecting anything it comes into contact with.
Charlie doesn’t ask about the meeting but I feel he doesn’t because he’s waiting for me to volunteer it. I do so, a little, simply saying that I enjoyed it and I wanted to find a way to make it every week.
End of discussion.
Time keeps moving. I feel something stirring in my head. I don’t know how to describe it but whatever it is it’s trying to save me from whatever hole I’ve fallen into. It’s starting to gently pull at my limbs, tugging at me, coaxing me out. I’m only mildly resistant and mostly curious as to what this is. This energy pushes itself into my fingers, making them construct a note to my assistant manager in Evanston asking her for the Wednesday schedule adjustment so I can make it to OA. I stop what I’m doing to write this note, afraid that if I don’t do it right this minute I’ll regret it. I place it next to our assistant schedule and continue on with my day.
The next step this feeling has me taking is to promise myself that I’ll make it to the gym three times a week. It doesn’t matter which three days, I just need to get there. No more excuses, no more “maybe next week”, it’s now or never, do it.
So it begins. I go and go hard. Nothing gets in my way, not even the rain. I notice that I stay longer and work harder. The pressure is off to go five or six times a week. Three is enough for now and I know that if I want more, I can go more. Having this knowledge and accepting it has made all the difference in the world. Where was this serenity when I needed it last year or even the year before? How did I achieve this all the sudden?
In no time I find myself online and posting a thread on couchsurfing.com, looking for fellow writers to get together and bounce ideas off of. I’m looking for support and understanding. I’ve let this thought marinate in my mind for the longest time now. Taking a step to reach out means putting myself out there, further solidifying my attempt at writing a novel and increasing my risk of failure if I don’t do it.
Taking all this action feels like preparing for something. For what I don’t know. Maybe I don’t need to know right now but just need to sit back, follow it and enjoy the process…