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…