Six...

It was like having a plug pulled out of some lost buried part of me that sent the tears streaming down my face. “Six.” I choked, air leaving my lungs. “I have no idea why I’m saying this. Nothing happened to me. I don‘t know what it is.”
“Nothing has to happen to you for you to shut it off.” Abby replied, her warm brown eyes taking in my slobbery image.
I’m on my back, my body stretched out on a massage table. My eyes had been closed at first and then she asked me the question…
I know it’s been forever since I’ve written. It’s not like I’ve forgotten. I think about writing every day. I do write every day. There is so much I’d like to write that there isn’t enough time in this life to get it all out. That feeling is so overwhelming that I tend to do nothing about it. I let it sit until I’m ready to scream. Right now, today, screaming isn’t violent enough. It’s not loud enough, not expressive enough to fully exorcise whatever it is that is fuming inside me. I tried to feed her to shut her up, tried to talk her out, tired pulling her out, tried yelling at her to get out but nothing is working so here I am, desperately needing to share this but feeling terrified, embarrassed, even a bit confused, but I’m here. Writing right now feels like a delicious drink of water on a hot day, so maybe this is what I’m after. I just went after it in the most round about way.
Jeff and I have been abiding by our date nights and not over stepping those boundaries too much. Sometimes the lines get blurred a little but for the most part we set aside time each week for a date. In the mean time we see each other when we can. I’m still working on being more open to him and with him. Parts of me are still so very frightened. They’re still insanely terrified that I will lose this wonderful person/relationship, because it’s happened before…why wouldn’t it happen again? Jeff is adorable, and so very precious to me in ways I can’t articulate even to myself. So Imma do it, scared or not. Thank God he’s patient and willing. I’m defiantly seeing that I’m going to have to talk, open up to let him in if this is ever going to be 100%. Thing is, I thought I was doing a decent job but I’m no where near open. There are glimpses of this openness though so I don’t entirely feel like a lost cause, I just get stuck sometimes.
Also with Beth’s encouragement, I’ve managed to begin selling my jewelry on etsy.com. (www.sweetladybee.etsy.com) All I needed it seemed was a little push. I’ve gotten so wrapped up in being a perfectionist, wanting my pictures to be flawless that I kept dragging my feet on this endeavor. The pictures aren’t perfect. They won’t be. I have no idea what I’m doing but I’m doing the best that I can. At least I have a starting point. I’ve made a place where I can edit accordingly. I couldn’t edit without the images being up so this whole thing was simply remaining a daydream until now.
Now I’m entertaining attaching another blog to the page chronicling my creative pursuits and life as I know it right now. That would mean, although I’m not sure yet, putting this one down except for writing on anniversaries like Rob’s birthday, (his would be 29th was Oct 23) the day we met, (Feb 10th,’08) and the day he died (April 20, 08) and any other situation I might feel like displaying. This idea is still bouncing around my head. I’m not sure I’m ready to really give this one up just yet and start another one. I’m not sure how to start really. That is the most paralyzing part, not knowing where to start. That first sentence is most agonizing but again, I’ll have nothing to edit if I don’t put it down.
Last Saturday, I asked one of my clients what she was going to be doing after her hair cut.
“I’m going to see an energy healer.” she replied.
“Really.” I stopped cutting to look at her in the mirror.
“Yeah, my mom got me started on that when I was really young. My aunt told me about this woman. She’s naturally gifted. She didn’t learn it or anything, she‘s been given this talent.”
“Really.” was all I could manage again as I pick up another section of her wet hair, and cut it accordingly. I’ve done this twice before, this energy work. I’ve enjoyed it both times but there this something about my client and the way she’s speaking about her lady that has me awfully intrigued. We both go back and forth about why we go, our confidence issues and past stuff that we want to work through. I ask her if this woman can communicate with people who have passed on.
“You know, I’m not sure.” my client tells me. “I actually think I’m going to ask her that today when I see her. I lost my boyfriend in 2008.”
I stopped cutting again. “Me too!”
“What? Really?”
“Yup.” I nod. I find out that my client’s boyfriend committed suicide on March 16th.
She gets it. Immediately we have this understanding sitting between us, that binds us together they way we aren’t bound to other people. I don’t have to say another word, don’t have to explain anything, because she’s been there.
We talk about dating and how we’re both terrified to experience that again, God forbid something happen a second time. I’m doing my absolute best to return my focus to her hair, tears blurring my view of what I’m supposed to cut.
“You have to see Abby.” my client tells me. “Please go see her. I’ll leave you her card.”
“I will.” I say it and mean it. I’m going to call her as soon as I finish drying my client’s hair.
Except I’m running late now and instead of quickly picking up the phone, or getting my next client, I’m locked in the bathroom, eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling out anyway, hands gripping the sink, desperate for a release of emotion I’ve managed to keep in for nearly an hour. Almost as quickly as I entered, I’m exiting, cheeks dry, happy face in place, deep breaths filling my lungs…
On Thursday I’m sitting in a coffee shop I’ve never been to trying to write. I’m to get on a bus soon and head over to Abby’s. It’s a beautiful day with bright sunshine and temperatures that feel like spring instead of a late Midwestern fall. A woman is across from me on a couch yelling into her cell phone. Something about her son’s birthday not being correct on an airline ticket. This woman has already been on my last nerve since she walked in. This tantrum makes it worse and I leave, wanting to walk and calm down before I get to Abby’s. I don’t want to bring all that crazy into her home.
I find the bus and get to her place. She lives in a high rise and I’m buzzed up by the concierge. I enter her small space and meet her as she’s making a pasta dish.
“Melissa! So good to meet you! Annie spoke so highly of you!” Abby smiles, shaking me hand.
I laugh and tell her that she spoke very highly of her too.
“Come in, let’s talk before we get started.” she tells me before instructing me to take off my shoes and leave them on the mat at the door.
I further enter her space which is cream colored and brightly sit with sunlight.
“Have a seat.” she motions toward the table and chairs. I do and smile across the way at her. “Tell me what brings you in.”
“Good question.” I sigh. “I’m having trouble getting in my own way when it comes to doing creative things. I make jewelry and want to write a book. Doing hair brings in my income but there are these other things I want to accomplish as well. I’ve got a lot of confidence issues surrounding these things.”
Abby nods.
“Also, I lost my boyfriend in a car accident two years ago so there’s that. I’m currently in a relationship that is wonderful but I’m having a hard time being open and allowing that relationship to happen because I’m so scared of losing it.”
“Of course you are! You experienced a tremendous loss. Sometimes, we go into a period of healing, kind of like wearing a cast where not much may happen creatively. Eventually though, it does happen, we just have to give it time.”
I nod. “I’m impatient. I’ve given it almost three years and am at a point where I don’t know what to do with it. I’m trying to put one foot in front of the other…”
She nods again. “That’s all you can do. His death, your experience with all of this at such a young age has opened you up to a kind of wisdom that most people don’t experience until much later in life. People your age are getting married and having children, not losing their significant others.”
I nod trying not to cry. I know it’s ok to cry but can’t seem to allow it to happen in front of people anymore. Not in front of her, Jeff or even Beth, the woman I freakin’ pay to listen to me.
Abby tells me a little about herself. She doesn’t see or hear well but her sense of touch is sharp. Upon touching people she can reach all sorts of different parts of them. She noticed that she was different at a very young age. Her grandmother has a similar gift and encouraged Abby to not shy away from hers. Abby would pick up on emotions from other people and is quite introverted. A part of me relates to this without speaking up and saying so. Later, I reveal this when she begins to set up the massage table.
“Are you empathic?” she asks.
“In a very small way, yes.” I reply. “I can pick up on my client’s energies pretty well. It becomes a problem sometimes when someone is overwhelming. I get sucked in.”
“Yes. You have a very bright energy about you but you’re very respectful. Sometimes people are all over the place.”
“I completely understand!” I laugh.
When everything is set up she asks me to lay face up on the table. I do so and stare at the ceiling.
“Melissa, this is your time ok? If anything becomes uncomfortable for you or I’m saying too much just let me know.”
I close my eyes and nod. I want whatever she wants to give. I hear her inhale and exhale. Her hands haven’t touched me when she speaks.
“You haven’t begun to touch your grief. You haven’t been present in your body in a very long time. You judge yourself very harshly.” Her hand touches my head, and tears come. “Am I right?”
“Yes.” I whisper.
Her hands continue to move down my head and over my ears. “You’re running on endurance alone. Operating like this hasn’t made any room for creativity. It’s like you’re running a marathon with no fuel. You’re like a pressure cooker right now. I’m going to touch some acupuncture points to help ease the pressure in your head.”
I feel her fingertips on the tops of my ears. While I don’t feel much going on through out my body, I feel her hands heat up. She’s quiet until she moves around to the side of me and asks the question that had me instantaneously crying. We talked earlier about me being empathic, picking up on other people’s feelings and energies. I feel a lot with my clients mostly but have been able to tune into my friends, co-workers and sometimes, Jeff… a little. I’m scared of it and don’t acknowledge it’s happening always.
“I’m going to ask you a question.” Abby says to me. “I don’t want you to think about it much or analyze it, just answer with the first thing that comes to your mind.”
I nod.
“How old were you when you first shut off the empathic part of yourself?”
Enter the tears and the answer being “six”.
I’m confused now. I don’t understand what’s going on or what part of me said “six.”
“I feel it was earlier than that. I feel like you were three, four, five, maybe six.” she tells me.
“Nothing happened though.”
“Nothing has to happen. You may have walked past someone who just committed a crime and got scared and shut it off. Kids are very perceptive but have a hard time processing things so they tune out, shut off.”
The rest of the session was relaxing and I felt like a million dollars when I left. I walked for a while before finding the train and heading home. I was dying to share this with Jeff but when he came over I shut off. I got into the story a little bit before telling him that I was getting on my own nerves hearing myself talk and I shut off.
“I feel like you don’t want me here.” he says later while fixing dinner.
“Of course I do.” I tell him. I don’t know what’s going on, talking just feels too hard. Maybe one day…or maybe not. I’m not sure.
The following week was pretty tumultuous. I cried a lot, wrote even more, made several pieces of jewelry and eventually told Jeff. Whatever Abby did, she unlocked something and I’m itching to go back and see what else might happen but want to give it some more time, letting the dust settle a little bit from this session before diving into another…

Black and White...

It’s Thursday and I’m sitting across from Beth in her office. I swear she’s like a dose of crack. I so look forward to our appointments. I tell her that I’ve been hanging out with Jeff despite my telling him that I can’t have contact with him because it’s too freakin’ hard. Yet, I can’t seem to get enough of him either. I don’t understand.
“I don’t think this needs to be so black and white.” Beth offers. “I think that you can have time to yourself and your relationship, if you want.”
I nod, letting that roll around in my head for a minute. Do I think in terms of black and white? All or nothing? Of course I do… if I didn’t I probably wouldn’t be in this predicament.
“I think you guys need to set some very clear boundaries and not over step them. Set up one or two nights a week for dates and leave it at that. If you choose to see each other more, make that decision but don’t let a brunch date go all day if that isn’t what you’ve planned. That way you know you’re going to see each other which frees you both up to do other things.”
I nod again. “I like this idea, we just do a very good job of letting things go overboard.”
“You consume each other and that’s when you run into problems.” she reminds me.
“Yup.”
“Is this something you want to try?” she asks.
“It is. I’m just scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of having it not work, of going over board again and ending up where we are now.”
“That’s why it’s important to talk about it. When you’re feeling things are getting out of control again you’re going to have to say something to him. I really feel like this is fixable.”
I nod. “Me too.” a smile slowly spread across my face. “So. He’s working now. Should I just call and ask him to meet up?”
“I don’t see why not.” she smiles back at me.
“Oh I’m excited!” I laugh. Suddenly, a solution has presented itself and I’m ecstatic.
When I leave her office, I call Jeff and leave him a message. He later agrees to meet me. We decide to go to Millennium Park where I relay the details of my visit with Beth.
“So…you wanna try this?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes.”
I’m bursting, and relieved all at the same time, ecstatic and grateful that he’s willing to try this. We decide to set up a date for next week and walk out of the park, my hand in his, as it’s closing.

Eat, Pray, Love...

One of my clients, we’ll call her Jane, told me that each night before she goes to sleep, she lights candles and talks to her “angels”. She tells them about her day, what she wants, her fears etc… then she asks them what they want to tell her. She’s been doing this for so long that she’s become quite good at “hearing” them, letting them guide her. I feel Rob is my guide and have for a long time now but I never stopped to ask, “what do you want to tell me?” I’m usually asking for things, sometimes yelling to him to “fix” whatever mess I’m drowning in. If I ever “feel” something it’s felt in my fingers tingling beneath my skin because something is wrong or I have an intuitive thought that is sometimes fleeting but sometimes strong enough to make me do an about face and go in another direction. I’d like to learn to “catch” things before that happens. I decide to try this listening thing and see what comes up.
The first time I do it, I’m in bed, about to go to sleep when I get very still, and begin my usual dialogue. This consists of a lot of please helps and thank yous before I ask “What would you like me to know?”
I fall asleep before “hearing” anything.
The next night, my brain is so scattered and jumbled that I hear nothing but my own racing thoughts, but the night after that when I’m very still and awake enough to pay attention the words “eat, pray, love” appear in my mind’s eye.
My brain attacks this, tearing it to shreds, trying to analyze it. I tell God/Rob that I tried reading the book but only made it half way through as it didn’t hold my attention like I thought it would. “What would you like me to do with it?” I ask.
Silence.
“The movie is coming out I think. Soon I hope. Do you want me to see it?”
Silence.
“Am I’m supposed to travel like that? Cause I want to…”
More silence.
“Sooo… do you want me to just wait and see what happens? Are you going to tell me more?”
Extended silence.
“Ok. I get it. I’ll wait.”
The next morning my first thought was of those words “eat, pray, love.” Maybe that’s how I am to live my life. I write them down and hope something comes of it.
Days later my alarm goes off and I hit the snooze button. I never hit the snooze button. Ever. I’m on day five of ten hour work days (working to make up for time off next month) and today is Saturday, the busiest day complete with a huge wedding party that I’m terrified of. Weddings are stressful and I don’t even put hair up or do formal styling. I usually get stuck blowing out little old ladies which given my southern background you think I’d be a pro at by now but sadly, I am not.
I can barely open my eyes as I roll out of bed. I walk over to my closet and stare at it’s contents willing something to fly out of it and dress me. No such luck. I walk away and turn on my computer. While waiting for it to load, I stare at the wall and think about painting my face and brushing my teeth. It all sounds like a good idea…
I peruse the internet instead being the master procrastinator that I am. I should get ready. I have fifteen minutes now to look presentable. Damn. I wonder what’s in my Gmail inbox…
Agh! Stop! I get up and turn the computer off. I quickly apply some make-up and beat down the rooster mess that is my hair. Back in front of the closet I stare at it’s contents again. Nothing is appealing. For the love of God! Pick something! I annoy the hell out of myself sometimes. I chose a pair of tiny black shorts that I haven’t worn since, well, forever and a black button up shirt wondering just what it is I’m thinking right now. I push my feet into little black heels and race out the door practically running to the train with one eye still half closed.
At the Unicorn I stare out the window eating granola and sipping life in the form of an Americano. I tell myself over and over that I’m a good stylist. I can do old lady hair. If I need help I can ask. It will end no matter what.
After downing the first Americano, I order another and head to work. I enjoy my first client. I wish nothing but good things for her as she tells me about dating a new guy she’s met at work after a series of awkward first and sometimes second dates with random people.
Later, my co-workers Audrey, Lauren and I are in the break room laughing about how all of us were saying positive affirmations to ourselves about today, each of us having our own challenges. We’re all nervous about this wedding party, none of us knowing what to expect.
I get no-showed which opens up time for a run to Whole Paycheck (Whole Foods…however you want to view itJ) and grab lunch. While standing in line I think to myself what a blessing it is to have this break to actually get food. I forgot my lunch and am thrilled I’ll have time to eat this deliciousness I’m about to purchase.
Ah, the wedding party has arrived. There are fourteen people. I look around for my little lady and find her talking with two other little ladies and smile upon laying eyes on her. She’s in her eighties at least, with short, white, curly hair, and sparkling green eyes behind a pair of black rimmed glasses that I have the urge to covet. She lights up when I say her name and introduce myself which makes me light up and feel that this will all be ok.
In my chair she has the energy of an eighteen year old happily explaining how she wants her hair.
“I want it light, airy and festive!” she chirps.
I’m laughing explaining how I see it going. She agrees and I get her shampooed.
In the bowl she tells me all about how she graduated from Northwestern University, majoring in German. She taught German for many years out in Denver where she lived with her husband. I love the sound of this woman’s voice. It’s full of a kind of joy that I rarely experience or see in other people. I’ve heard happiness in people’s voices among other things, but joy? It’s rarely seen.
“How long have you been married?” I ask.
“Well.” she begins. “This year would have been fifty four years but he’s since passed on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. How long has been gone?”
“Ten years.” she tells me.
“Wow.” I nod.
“Oh but he was a wonderful man!” she exclaims like a newlywed. “We had the best time! We skied all the time out there in Denver and lived in a beautiful home. He was simply amazing. And handsome too!”
I see in her something I once had. She is sparkling as she talks about him. Her words and love are a mirror image of something I had. My entire being soaks her up, desperately wanting that again and thrilled to pieces to be looking at it, feeling it and remembering in the form of another human being. My eyes flood as I rinse her hair. I can have it again. I remind myself. I’m apparently just not ready yet.
Back in my chair it’s as if she and I are the only two people in the salon. She tells me about her life, surviving cancer twice, raising children, teaching, and moving to San Diego after her husband passed away.
I ask what her husband did she said he was an architectural engineer. Amazing.
“I still love him so much. Even after he’s been gone ten years.”
My floodgates are about to burst. I can’t tell her or you what this means to me to hear this. To hear that she still loves him this much after he’s been gone for so long. It’s like putting ice on a burn. It soothes and calms my frayed, scared nerves in ways I’ve been desperate for. She makes it ok for me to still love and miss Rob as much as I do but am afraid to admit.
“Do you still feel him? I ask her.
“Oh yes! All the time! He’s thrilled about this wedding!” she happily replies referring to her granddaughter who is getting married today. “Are you married?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I lost the love of my life in a car accident.”
“Oh my. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “I ask you all of this because I feel Rob is still with me, so it’s good to know that you feel it too.”
“Oh of course!” she turns to face me and says “Don’t you worry. Another one will come along. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I feel that.” I nod and my hands begin to shake. I’m going to lose it.
“Nope. Don’t you worry.” she says again.
My hands continue to direct her hair with my brush and dryer but if I open my mouth to speak all that will spill out will be tears.
I am desperate to find the words to explain how all of this feels. This woman has touched my soul in a way that no one ever has. Her kind words, gentle but sparkly energy has made it’s way into my veins and it’s coursing it’s way through me filling me with more love than I could ever know. I am full of so much gratitude that I have no idea where to put it. It may not mean much to her or to anyone really but to me it’s everything.
I finish her hair and we go our separate ways. I have her daughter next whom I’ve worked on before back in May. I need a breather first and head to the bathroom where I unleash all my tears in heaving sobs, grateful for the release.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” I whisper to Rob over and over before drying my eyes and going back out again.
Hours later, my client Jane is in my chair and I’m thrilled to tell her about the “eat, pray, love” thing.
“You know the movie came out yesterday.” she smiles.
“What?! I so had a feeling that I needed to see a movie tonight after work. I never feel like doing that.”
“Oh yeah. Maybe you’re going to have a spiritual revelation when you see it.” she smiles.
“I know right? I hope so. I hope I’m not blind to it.”
“You won’t be. You‘re definitely being guided.”
I tell her about my client from earlier today and how amazing all if was.
“It’s no accident that she was booked with you today. I have no doubt that she was supposed to see you to deliver the message that she did. I think she’s letting you know about things to come. You’re being looked out for.”
“I totally feel that!” I squeal.
She tells me about an exercise that she did in a workshop a while back that she’s trying to pick up again. It’s taking time each morning to write out a stream of consciousness. It’s writing non-stop until three pages (No more or less) are filled. Even if it’s just writing “I have no idea what to say”, write it out.
“You’ll be surprised as to what comes up. I’m not going to tell you all of why you need to do it. You need to see it for yourself.” she grins. “I will tell you that it’s a way of letting your inner child express herself. It gives her space to be and keeps your mind calm. Give it a try.”
Oh I will alright. I like it. It goes along with what Beth was telling me about giving myself permission to write freely without judgment. I feel I’ve done a good job with it and am excited for this exercise as it will further my writing into something deliciously unknown. I feel I’m still looking for my “voice” as a writer and I think this will put me on that path.
When I finish her hair I go to check movie times for “Eat Pray Love”. My heart nearly stops when I see that one of the times is 4:20pm. It’s the date that Rob died and those numbers find their way into my daily life from time to time whether it’s the time on a clock, a page in a book or whatever. It doesn’t happen too often but when it does it makes my heart sing.
Miraculously I’m done early enough to catch the 6:05 show. This never, ever happens. I’ve never gotten off early on a Saturday. I sit in the dark theater completely unaware that I’m alone on a Saturday night. I don’t feel sorry for myself but am happy to simply be with myself. It feels good to be in my own company, to take myself out.
A silly commercial plays across the huge screen. One of the characters is named Rob. I simply grin to myself feeling I’m in the right spot.
The movie starts. I’m ready. I’m ready to hear, feel, soak up anything I’m supposed to get from this. I watch Julia Robert’s character decide to get on her knees and pray when she’s not sure what else to do. Tears find me again. I have no idea why.
The movie continues. I already feel I’m going to need to see it twelve times. Half way through it the screen goes blank and the lights turn on. Everyone starts looking at each other. I’m giggling to myself being that I stopped reading the book half way through and here I am in the theater and the movie has stopped where I stopped reading.
Minutes later we’re asked to evacuate. The fire department is out in the lobby as we all make a mass exodus. Apparently someone pulled the fire alarm. My head is swimming and I’m annoyed with the huge mob that’s in the lobby. I decide to call it a night and make my way outside.
Now what? I ask myself. I’m hungry. Ok. I’m able to catch the train into the city. While waiting on the platform I pull out my journal and begin a stream of consciousness. I find it to be easy and I’m hooked. I hope it’s always this easy. I’m still curious after days of doing it, what will happen or appear.
I stop for sushi at one of my favorite places near my apartment. In thinking about the movie I wonder if God was needing me to be distracted while He got something else together. I’m not sure when I’m going to go back and see it just yet.
At home I get ready for bed. I’m so exhausted, the week hitting me like a ton of bricks knocking me face down into my pillow. Before my eyes close completely I ask God/Rob if there’s anything I need to know. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
The answer: Listen.
I roll the word around in my head for a lil bit. “Ok. I’m listening…” I drift off to sleep.

The Black Keys...

In my mind I’m in a café in Paris wearing an oversized black sweater with leggings and boots. My bobbed hair is nearly touching my shoulders. I’ve been writing here for hours at a tiny table by a window, stopping to watch the snow fall while slowly working on a cappuccino.
My reality is much different. I’m in Chicago, it’s August and sweltering outside. A train is taking me home from another ten hour day behind my chair. My brain is so fried I can’t even read. I put in my iPOD and listen the soft piano music that makes up a beautiful song called “Clair de Lune”. This is where my mind takes off. It’s been happening more and more often this daydreaming. I like to think that it’s my over active imagination flexing it’s muscle but really I think it’s my mind’s way of escaping when there are no other distractions present.
My mind continues to wander, playing back the events of the day and the people I met. I worked on a girl today with bra strap length blonde hair and beautiful green eyes. She had me laughing with her story telling until I began to blow dry her after finishing her haircut. It gets hard for me to hear over the noise of the dryer and I get quiet. Once the dryer was off I started to comb through her hair carefully detailing her layers section by section, removing any hard lines with the tips of my shears. I can barely hear the music playing over the white noise of other blow dryers turning on mixed with the various conversations going on around me. My mind stretches, reaching for Rob, thinking about him in a way I don’t remember now to even say when my client’s voice brings me back.
“I love the Black Keys.” she simply states.
“What’s that?” I stop cutting and face her even though I heard her clear as day.
“The Black Keys.” she points upward. “I love them.”
I smile and nod. Funny she could hear it over all the other noise. The Black Keys was one of Rob’s favorite bands. I admit to not being into them much but always smile when I see a t-shirt or a CD of theirs.
I think about sharing this with her, sharing that I was thinking about Rob and then she said that. I decide against it, then think, “Nope. I’m gonna.” So I do.
“Oh wow. That is crazy.” her eyes get big.
“I know.” I giggle even though none of this is amusing to me.
“Wow…”
My hand moves to pick up another section of her hair and I feel her head is heating up. I keep cutting watching her scalp and face turn a light shade of pink. I try not to regret telling her. I sometimes forget myself and the fact that other people are not connected to the things I experience or want to share…

Chatter...

I’m sitting in a pool of words and thoughts swimming around my raw, chapped little body. I feel I need to be in a padded room right now complete with soundproof walls and a straightjacket. These words and thoughts are desperate to come together and form something coherent but I can’t seem to make it all fit.
I want it all to fit. Right this minute. It’s too uncomfortable to sit here and let it all drift by without organizing it. My fingers reach out trying to grab hold of something, anything that will stop the free fall into something unknown but I can’t grab anything when I’m drowning.
Except I’m not drowning. It only feels that way. It’s like watching something on IMAX where it feels like you’re really there on that rollercoaster or next to that shark but you’re not. You’re safe in a theater letting the images play out before you.
I am home. I just took a shower and ate dinner. I can do whatever I want. It’s just me now. Isn’t that what I wanted? Why is hurting so much then?
I have jewelry to make, a journal to continue with, a book proposal I’d like to get started on this century and yet I can’t sit still long enough to touch any of it. Instead I’m taking the long way to the places I need to go to. I feel I’ve spent more time walking and on trains than at the actual places I was using those means to get to.
“It sounds like things aren’t coming naturally to you right now.” my new therapist Beth observes after explaining to her the structure of my days off.
I shake my head. “No. It used to but because of how my work days are, I don’t do anything. I save it all for my days off and sometimes, I just don’t feel like it. I fear that not feeling like it over and over again will end up with nothing accomplished so it feels imperative to get as much done as possible.”
“You’re very disciplined and I’m wondering if we just need to explore your creative process more and redirect how you approach these things. I feel they should be therapeutic and give energy rather than taking energy.”
“Definitely!” I beam.
“Ok, so I want you to simply try writing without an agenda. Let your mind go where ever it goes and write it down. Don’t judge it, just do it. For an hour. If you go longer, great, if not, at least do it for that hour.”
I nod.
“How does that sound?”
“I want it! I do. I’m nervous about actually doing it though. I always have an agenda.”
“I knew you would say that.” she smiles. “Ok, so when you’re writing and you’re getting overwhelmed, stop, and breathe. Really breathe deeply a couple of times and get back to it.”
“Deal.”
My mind goes to all sorts of places that my pen and paper don’t capture. I’m not sure why I don’t record any of it really. I think some of it I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of what I might say or might feel. I’m also afraid of feeling silly or getting stuck so I say nothing.
When I leave Beth’s office I have the best intentions. Ok. I’m going to do this. I get on the train and head to Millennium Park. I walk around and look for a spot to sit and open my notebook, ready for all of this to pour out of me.
It’s awfully busy out here. I observe while meandering. I feel the warm sun on my back and a breeze pushing my straightened hair around my face and smile feeling lucky to be outside today, to have a day off, to be simply breathing.
I plop down under a tree and give in to my compulsive phone checking habit. For six months now Jeff and I have sent bagillions of text messages throughout any given day. It’s going to take a while to stop anticipating the screen of my phone lighting up or the chirping sound it makes when I don’t have the ringer on silent alerting me to some sweetness he’s delivering.
Opening my notebook, I find a blank page and sigh. A screaming seagull captures my attention. Some girls laughing next to me compete with the seagull and with all the people walking around…my head might start spinning. Maybe I picked a bad spot for concentrating. I write a couple of sentences then stop to watch the sun glittering through the leaves on the trees over me.
This is a bad idea. I need less distraction. I pick up and go again ending up at Filter, a coffee shop not far from my apartment. It’s packed but I find a table. I open the notebook again. I get a paragraph pushed out but am still judging, thinking a little too much and desperately wanting to simply let go but I don’t have a clue as to how to do that. I start writing again, asking more questions of myself instead of simply stringing sentences together.
Maybe this is just what it’s going to be today. I pack up after an hour and head home.
The sun is blazing but I run anyway, sweat racing down my spine. I try to remind myself that the writing will come once the dust settles and I find a routine again. My life was just enmeshed with someone else’s. I’m not tolerant of the fact that an adjustment is being made and all I can do is put one foot in front of the other.
Once I make it home again I try to quiet the chatter in my brain to figure out what it is I want to do. Nothing is clear. Well, one thing for sure is clear and that is a much needed shower.
“Just do what you know.” my high school art teacher would tell me when I didn’t have all the answers as to what direction I wanted to take a particular project in. I’ve kept that sentence tucked away with me ever since.
I go through the motions without paying much attention to the water spraying onto my skin or the smell of the strawberry scrub I adore. I get out of the tub and wrap a towel around myself sighing for the hundredth time today.
Once dressed I park my tail on the couch, turn on the computer and take a look at the submission guidelines for a publishing company based in San Francisco. I tell myself I can do all of this. I can write this proposal. I don’t have to have all the answers now but I’ll have them eventually.
Upon reading these guidelines the dermatitis that has plagued me since moving here is sparking. Not only is it eating my hands, it’s threatening to eat my arms too. I click out of the browser set the computer on the coffee table.
I take this opportunity to go to the grocery store and get veggie burgers. On my way back a (seemingly) schizophrenic black man holding a Walkman waltzing toward me is yammering on about God knows what then very coherently says to my face “I love you honey!”
I think of Rob and laugh.
At home I eat and try to be still. Nervous energy is pulsing through my veins. I have enough of it to light up New York City. I try to ask myself what I want. I want to write for hours. I want to write unabashedly until it’s all out of me. I want to be uncensored and unafraid. I want to hurl words in big, bold, all capital letters across a blank page. I want to sing until my vocal chords can’t produce sound and talk until there are no words left. I want to dance all night until the sun begins to rise. I want to cry until my eyes won’t make tears anymore, laugh until I can’t breathe, run until my lungs can no longer expel the air they take in and express myself in all the ways I’ve held back, then…sleep like I’ve just eaten a Thanksgiving dinner.
Until I figure out how to accomplish that, the chatter continues…

OA Lead...

As usual I’m up early and am setting out on my Sunday route to Alliance for a huge Americano and some writing. I have to give the lead tonight at OA and I’m only half way through with writing it out. I’m scared to finish it. I don’t want to touch it. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of but something has me putting on the breaks.
I sit in my favorite spot by the window, computer on, the Americano in my hand, eyes staring out at the world. I alternate between this position and being completely engrossed in typing away, telling a story to my laptop. I was expecting the floodgates to open today spilling words from my mind to my hands to the screen but not much is happening.
I really should work on my lead…soon…
Instead I pack up and head home to drop my things off and go out for a run. I change my route slightly, heading north on Milwaukee instead of south. It’s quieter than I expected which is glorious. I go for forty five minutes then turn around and head home only to grab my things again and head to the gym for a quick workout.
A couple of weeks ago I met John* at a Wednesday night OA meeting. He noticed I wrote nearly the entire time while people were speaking. I love to write down what everyone says. He also liked what I had to share and asked me to give a lead two weeks later at a Sunday night meeting about Step eight. My mind started to formulate reasons why I couldn’t make it. Giving a lead and talking for fifteen to twenty minutes sounded real scary. While part of me was backing away from this, another part was pushing me to do it, reminding me that I am capable. The word “yes” left my mouth before I could talk myself out of it.
So here I am, on Sunday, with this lead half finished. Ok seriously…I have to get this done…
I’m reading while letting this thought bounce around in my head, sipping red tea at Argo Tea downtown after working out, watching people walk by the huge windows. I’m doing more watching than reading. My OA stuff is spread out in front of me like an impatient child waiting for attention yet I continue to ignore it.
Once my tea is finished I’m packed up and heading home where I fix lunch, shower and continue my avoidance of the task at hand that still needs to be completed. Maybe I’ll just head up there and find a coffee shop…
Again, more avoidance. What the hell am I so afraid of? Doing it wrong? Being judged? Suddenly I’m thirteen again and terrified of being made fun of because what I’m saying isn’t good enough. I have to bare my soul to these people. What will they think of me?
My story and my sharing it is an act of faith and love. I have faith that in sharing, I’ll be loved anyway. I will love myself more for taking this opportunity to give service. Fear is paralyzing though as I’m quickly finding. Time is closing in around me as I step off the train and out into the blazing sunshine. I walk for a while before stumbling upon a Starbucks. I have exactly one hour to get this done. No time for excessive thinking. I order a tea and get to work.
I brought along a journal that Jeff gave me. I decide to rewrite what I’ve already come up with to get the ball rolling and to make it neater and more organized. The first page of the journal is filled with his sweetness in the form of a short note to me. I read over it again, smiling at thinking about his hands forming the words on the page.
I turn to a blank page and begin writing. I write and write and write, barely looking up. Words pour out of me splashing across the paper in the form of my messy handwriting. My desire for food is steadily increasing as the minutes tick by. My energy is haphazard and spastic. There is no way I’m giving in to food before a fucking meeting. I glance at my watch as I finish writing the last word. It’s been exactly an hour. Whew! Made it. I pack up and walk to place where the meeting is held.
“Welcome to the Sunday night meeting of Overeaters Anonymous. My name is John and I’m a compulsive overeater and the leader for this meeting tonight.”
John goes through the usual announcements that begin every meeting. Each one is slightly different depending on which day we attend. On Wednesday nights, the meeting I usually attend, we choose three topics to speak about. This meeting someone gives a “lead” talking about a particular subject or step and discussion follows.
“I’ve asked Melissa to give the lead on the eighth step tonight. She’s not from Chicago and I asked her to speak to hear a different perspective that she might have coming from somewhere else.” He nods for me to take over and I beam.
“Hi! I’m Melissa and I’m a compulsive overeater. I’m really grateful to be here tonight.” I exhale, quickly checking in with my heart rate. It’s steady. Thank God. I can do this. “I moved here from Atlanta and this is my second time at this Sunday night meeting. I attended this one shortly after moving here but my schedule doesn’t always allow for me to come as often as I’d like.”
I remember to make eye contact while speaking, only tearing my eyes from other’s to glance at what I’ve written.
“Being asked to give this lead tonight put me in a position where I was needing to check in with myself and make sure I had nothing needing to be “cleaned up” before sharing.
Before diving into that task I felt I needed to reflect on what Step 8 was, what it meant to me upon entering the program and what it means to me now.
Step 8, as we know is making a list of all persons we’ve harmed and became willing to make amends to them all. I find that “willing” is a key word in that sentence. I could make a list all day, it’s the willing part that had me putting on the breaks. For me, being willing means letting go and taking action despite any fear I might have floating around.”
Some heads were nodding. I realized at that moment that people were actually listening. I had their attention and I suddenly got nervous. I paused for a brief moment before taking in another breath, letting it out and continuing.
“Taking action meant stepping into some unknown world and the unknown is a scary place to be. The first time I had to make my list I had to remind myself that it was only a list. No action needed to be taken yet. It was still a scary process. I dunno about you but I like to believe in Melissa’s world, it’s all puppies and rainbows and no one has ever been hurt as a result of something I’ve done!”
Everyone laughs including myself simply needing to release energy.
“None of that is real though.” I continue. “I’ve harmed people and carried resentments against even more people. It’s all been festering in a dark place inside my head. It’s a place I was terrified to look into out of fear of what I might find or feel.
When it came time to visit that place after moving through Steps one through seven thinking thank God we don’t start with eight,” I joke. “I had to stop and ask myself “Why am I doing this?” I hoped that in at least getting curious about my intentions I could move forward with a little more ease.
The answer was simple. I wanted to let go, move forward and take another step in the direction of recovery and self acceptance. I wanted to release the pain and secrets I had been walking around with.
I found my willingness by reminding myself that I will not die from these uncomfortable feelings, or from apologizing. Many people before me have gotten through Step eight and now it’s my turn. I will not burst into flames for these admissions.”
More laughing ensues and I feel good.
“I was struggling as to whether or not I was going to share what my original list consisted of. The only person who has heard all of it is my former sponsor. So I’m deciding to share it with all of you tonight as a reminder that I’m a human being and am not perfect.”
I list all the unsavory stuff…including, but not limited to, the unfortunate resentments I’ve held against friends and family, a man who abused me and the hardest to accept, the resentments I held and sometimes currently hold against myself.
“Seeing it all out there on paper and relaying the details of it to my sponsor at the time all while trying to remember that I am still a loveable human being despite my flawed actions was a tremendous act of faith.” I continued feeling my skin heat up at these admissions.
“As time has moved on, my list is usually kept quite short. It’s no longer the daunting task it once was. It’s never easy though. I took an inventory after committing to this lead tonight and found that I had some residual anger left over from someone I just recently broke up with. I had to be honest, tell him everything and let go. Sure it was hard but I feel so much better that it’s not longer something I’m hanging on to. Without this program I have no idea where I’d be. Without Step eight and all the step before it and after it I’d still be bumbling around in the dark hanging on to all my fear. Without all of you giving me more love than I deserve I’d still be in the food eating my life away. So thank you,” I exhale, trying not to cry. “for being here, for listening and for letting me share.”
Applause erupts around me and I feel myself relax. I feel so happy to have taken John up on the challenge of doing this tonight. For the rest of the meeting I sit quietly, and listen to everyone else share. My little heart is so happy to hear that my struggles and experiences match those around me. People thank me for sharing my thoughts, for the preparation and for admitting the icky stuff and share their own unsavory moments. There is lots of laughing and some tears. I feel I still have a long, long way to go when it comes to self-love and acceptance but tonight, I feel I just made an important step in the right direction.


* not his real name.

Beth...

“I don’t think you’re being open to him.” Beth tells me as I sit, wide-eyed across from her on a couch in her small comfortable office. Sunlight streams through the blinds that cover a large window next to her seated brightly colored form.
I nod. She’s prolly right but I don’t wanna see it, plus I don’t know how to, so I let her words go in one ear and out the other.
It’s the day after the half marathon. My joints are sore but nothing tremendous. This is my first appointment with my new therapist and I’m ecstatic to see what’s in store for my lil brain and all it’s many emotions.
I just told her that I broke up with Jeff. She’s thinking there is more there that needs to be looked at. Like me being open. What does that even mean though? I thought I was. Then again, I think about Dr. M. and her asking me if I feel I’m closed off when it comes to Jeff because of losing Rob. The answer to that question when she asked was an immediate yes. I felt that a part of me was but didn’t know how to unlock it and invite Jeff in. The whole thing felt very heavy and “too much”, so I left.
Being this is my first visit with Beth we gloss over the surface of my reasons for being there which mainly are Rob, my eating disorder, work, and stress management. She’s an art therapist and I talk to her about these collages I’ve been doing when writing gets tough. It started with a handmade journal I bought at a local bookstore in my neighborhood. I got the idea from my roommate at the time when I first moved to Chicago. I cut up magazines and paste images down in these pages and watch what I’m feeling come to a surface. These images are like looking into a mirror sometimes. I don’t usually know what I’m going to come up with before I start, I just do it and am always excited to see what’s reflected back at me. Currently these images have been expanding to canvas. I have three large canvases filled with images waiting for more additions to their already rather colorful surfaces.
“I’d like to see these.” Beth tells me.
“I’ll bring in my journal first as the canvases are tough to transport right now being they’re so big..”
Beth also tells me at the end of our session that she’d like me to create a timeline consisting of major events in my life.
“Start with birth and write down anything that stands out, particularly body image issues, like when they first started.”
I nod. This will be easy enough right?
“I’d like to meet with you once a week for now.”
“Ok.” I nod and we set up a month’s worth of appointments.
Minutes later I’m out the door and walking to the train. I decide to head downtown to get sushi and work on this timeline while things feel fresh in my mind.
Jeff and I are texting. He asks how everything went today. I say that I’ll email him. I wonder when this will stop. When will I stop letting him in on details of my life. I’m terrified of keeping in contact with him, yet I don’t necessarily want to stop. I don’t want to meet up with him some time down the road or get an email from him saying how good things are at work then telling me he just went on a date with someone.
I get off the train when it gets downtown and walk to the sushi place I frequented with Jeff when he’d finish a shift at dinner time. I pull out a pen and a notebook after ordering spicy tuna and a glass of wine. It’s beautiful outside and I’m having one of those moments where I can’t believe I’m here. I live here. I’m sitting in a sushi restaurant content with my own company across from a beautiful park in the middle of downtown Chicago, the world buzzing around outside and I’m a part of it. Never did I ever imagine this when I was sixteen looking ahead at what my late twenties would be like.
I begin my timeline. Everything is easy until age fourteen. That’s when the trouble started. I became painfully aware of my body then. It would take five more years though to begin the eating disorder. Five more years would go by before I acknowledged it and two more years before getting help for it. Meanwhile, I’d float around from boy to boy, travel from city to city, buy a car among other things, always trying to fill the void that threatened to swallow me whole if I didn’t fill it quickly enough with material things, with experiences, hobbies, people, anything really to distract me from myself. I quit a job, started a new one. I fell in love, lived through his death, and started a new life many miles from a place I called home.
Now…who the hell am I?

13.1...

In March, I had the bright idea to sign up for the Chicago Rock-N-Roll half marathon taking place downtown on August 1st. Twice I’ve signed up to run a half and twice I’ve messed up my shins so badly that I didn’t run either one. I decided to try it again, wanting to better plot my training routine and make it happen this time around.
What really happened was I barely ran. At all. All spring and summer. I ran more through the snowy winter months than I did during the beautiful days of warm temperatures and sunshine.
A couple of weeks before, I was giving into the fact that I am simply not a competitive runner anymore. I stand for a living and my legs and feet aren’t happy with high mileage runs. I had pretty much decided that this would yet again, not happen. Until…
Mom sent me an email asking if I was running. I quickly replied with no, because I needed more time off from work to pick up my race gear downtown and wasn’t sure if that could happen, plus I hadn’t been training. When I clicked “send” I immediately regretted it. I can do this. I can run this. Even if I’m the last damn person to cross the finish line, I’m going to regret not trying. My fingers flew across the keyboard, looking up my work schedule. I am not booked during the last half of my day on the Saturday before the race. I ask Cyndi if I could take the rest off to which she agreed. I quickly emailed mom again telling her I was going to run it and if she and dad wanted to come up, awesome and if not that was ok too because it was going to be a packed weekend with me working plus going downtown, then running on Sunday.
That was the last I heard about it and the night before the race found me home finally from McCormick Place with my race number among other things cooking dinner, and watching one of my favorite movies “(500) Days of Summer”. I was feeling awfully emotional about this whole race thing. I wasn’t sure what to expect but I wanted to figure “everything” out. I wanted my mind to go where it wanted, to get answers to my many questions. It was a lot to put on an already seemingly intense experience. I was happy to be alone, happy to be accomplishing this goal on my own. It made me think of Rob though and how he wouldn’t be there in the way I would like. I remembered thinking after he died that I better live. I better do all the things I want to do, God forbid my life get cut short. I better write my book, learn the things I want to learn, run the races I want to run, and go to the places I want to go. Looking back, I’m pleased that I learned how to make jewelry, that I made the effort to move to Chicago, that I completed Art+Science’s program, that I haven’t stopped writing and now this race will be something else to check off my list.
The next morning I was awake at 5:30am. I bought new shorts and tank top specifically for today and felt pretty despite the fact that I was going to be a sweaty mess in an hour.
After eating breakfast and making coffee the way Jeff showed me how to make it, I pinned my number to my torso and happily bounced out the door hoping to catch a cab to the start line.
Except there were no cabs at the taxi stand. Uh oh. I stand and wait. Nothing. Dammit. I exhale. Train it is, except I’m not entirely sure where I’m going. Maybe I’ll get off at Jackson. Hmmm…
On the platform, thank God, it was me and about twenty other runners waiting. I followed them on to the train and at each stop more and more runners piled on. The train smelled like sunscreen and hair products. I’m so excited I can hardly stand still. I’m really about to do this!
Everyone exits at Jackson and I follow suit. The air outside is perfect despite it being slightly humid. It’s almost seventy degrees and the sun is beginning to rise over the lake. The street we’re on is flanked by two other streets full of runners all heading to the start line. Despite hating crowds I feel nothing but sheer joy and happiness.
Nearly thirty minutes after the official start of the race, the “corral” I’m in is set to begin. I listed my finish time as a rather slow 2:30. I’m hoping to finish in 2 hours though. We take off. I turn my iPOD on as my feet begin striking the pavement. It takes a little bit before I can hit a comfortable stride. I watch the bobbing heads in front of me, weaving in and out through people. I stare at the sparkly sunshine bouncing off the windows that line the buildings that make up the fabulous skyline of this wonderful city I live in.
My iPOD is set to “shuffle” and is playing all sorts of upbeat, motivating stuff. I continue to follow the runners ahead of me, happy to be alone and not rush but to go at my own pace. In high school I had a tendency to start out every race too fast and be out of energy by the end. I’m trying to keep a steady solid pace this time around.
We turn on to State street approaching the Chicago theater. There is a sea of people ahead of me taking up the entire width of the street. Crossing Randolph, I think of Jeff and my Intelligentsia visits. They’re open right now and I wonder if they’re slow because of the race traffic blocking off all the streets around it.
We all head down Michigan Ave and get on to Lakeshore Drive heading south. I notice a “10K” sign and realize we’re about half way there. Oh. Wow. Already?! I’m still feeling good, legs still moving, feet are ok. Yup. Still going.
By mile eight I could physically feel my body slowing down. I let it but refused to walk, afraid that if I did, if I let up for just one second, I’d never start running again. I imagine briefly, Rob running alongside me. I used to ask him to run with me on the weekends to which he always declined. After he died I could practically feel him when I went for my runs through Freedom Park. It was almost like I could reach out and touch him. Later, after moving to Chicago and flying back to visit Atlanta that feeling simply moved to having knowledge that he was there but above me instead of beside me. I feel both today.
I start noticing I’m surrounded by “new” people. The 2:30 “pacers” aren’t to be found. These are the folks you want to stay by to keep you on track to finish at a particular time. Sure enough after scanning the crowd I find the 2:15 pacers. Excellent.
I thought my mind would wander, that I would daydream like I usually do when I run. I can’t seem to because for the first time during a run in I don’t know how long, I am present. I am focused on the movement of my legs, my feet pounding the pavement, my breath that is moving steadily in and out of my lungs. I find there is nothing else to think about but right now.
Mile eleven. Lots of cheering from the sidelines is keeping me going. Cheerleaders from middle and high schools are yelling and waving to us. I like them the best. The signs people are holding up are great too.
At mile twelve my eyes flood from be emotionally overwhelmed in the best way. “No, no, no!” I say to myself, remembering that crying makes my legs go numb. I’m doing this! Really doing it! It’s actually going to happen! I decide that I’m going to finish under 2:15. There are 1,600 yards left. I pick up my pace and pass the 2:15 pacers.
With nearly 800 yards left to go Rob’s favorite song “Addicted” starts playing. Again I have to blink back the tears. The crowd is heavier and louder on the sidewalks as we all begin approaching the finish line. I go and go and go, legs stretching out further and further creating longer strides. I take my iPOD out of my ears to hear the cheering surrounding us. I remember to keep a smile on my face as per my friend Christine as pictures are taken as we cross the finish line.
My right foot strikes the finish at 2:03 minutes. There are no words to describe the flood of emotion that washes over me. There are also no words to describe the jelly-like feeling taking over my legs and ass right now but it’s something close to heavenly.
I wander over to a small station with bottled water and try not to use both my nose and mouth to inhale it. I’m spacey, happy, and really loopy. More pictures are taken before I make a trek back over to the Clark/Lake blue line home.
It takes almost an hour to get home between all that walking and the train. I left my phone at home and when I got there Jeff had texted me wishing me good luck and my friend Kate also texted me saying “Run Melissa Run!” It lit me up inside to read their words.
After washing the sweat and film of dirt that covered my body I headed up to Earwax on Milwaukee for some much needed food. I got to sit at a perfect table, facing the window while inhaling a huge brunch, barely tasting any of it from being completely ravenous.
I’m experiencing the best runner’s high in the history of the world! I gotta do this whole half marathon again…

Mail...

In between clients I sit at the computer and check my email. There is a message from Jeff sitting in my Inbox. My heart drops to my stomach as I open it. I read his words, each one of them searing into my brain and suddenly I am no longer twenty eight sitting in the break room of my place of employment but seventeen in my parent’s room where they kept the computer the day after cheering at my first football game my junior year of high school. My seventeen year old self is opening email sent “anonymously” by some folks with nothing better to do that evening, tears filling her eyes at the unsavory sentences splayed across the screen.
“What’s the matter?” my dad asks upon walking in on me.
I explain the screen.
“Just ignore them Melissa.” he told me.
Deep down in my gut I knew their words to be untrue as I know Jeff’s are. No one lives in my brain. No one knows what I’m feeling or not feeling. No one is living my life for me and can’t tell me what’s going on or not inside of me. He’s upset with me and is hurting. I can see all of that but the short paragraph in front of me cuts through my center and touches a nerve that is so insanely sensitive and already feels so exposed that I am reduced to a brief, albeit intense, bout of crying before I pick myself up, dust myself off and get on with my life. I know all the way down to the white meat of my soul that none of this is true.
I go back to work, all smiles because I’m ok. No matter what. I’m starting to see that I can trust myself. I can take care of myself. I don’t need to give any more energy to this situation.
Later my phone lights up with a text from Jeff.
“How are you?”
I exit out of the message and finish my work day. I have nothing to say. Something is still eating at my hands as they’ve not quite healed up as I thought they would. Something is still bugging my brain. Parts of me want to attack him, say mean things back, parts of me want to calmly, and simply respond and another part of me wants to ignore it altogether.
The next day while I’m writing at the Unicorn I get another text from Jeff. He still wants to remain in touch, still wants to talk. I lose my mind. Rage boils underneath my skin lighting up my veins and has me gripping the phone so hard I might break it. I want to throw it across the room but not before dialing his number and unleashing a kind of crazy I save only for the Atlanta interstate at five in the afternoon on Friday.
I don’t want to lose Jeff. I don’t want to be mean to him. I love him dearly and don’t want to lose touch but for right now I’m raw, deeply saddened, and angry all at the same time.
“What would you like me to say?”
“Anything.”
“You send me a vile email and expect me to respond?!”
Our texting goes back and forth. He feels something else is going on with me and I’m not giving him the whole truth. He wants whatever it is that I’m holding on to whether it’s anger or not.
I am truly intrigued by this. Rob was the last person to encourage the admission of my feelings. Jeff is the only one who has actually pulled this hard. He pulls when talking is hard for me, when I don’t want to and still pulls when I do, letting more of me spill out onto him. No one has ever wanted my crazy as much as Jeff.
I won’t give it up though. Nope. I can do this in a calm way. There is no need for the Exorcist-style scream fest that could possibly erupt. I’ll give him the last piece as calmly as I can. I put my phone away and head to work.
Earlier in the week at OA I was asked to give a lead on Sunday August 8th. This means speaking for 15-20 minutes about the topic of the week which is Step Eight. That step is to list people we have harmed and be willing to make amends to them all. Upon agreeing to do this I had to take a quick inventory and make sure I had nothing that needed “cleaning up.” I currently feel I can’t give this lead without being one hundred percent honest with Jeff. I’ve never had to say any of this before.
I did it though, I typed it up and clicked “send” watching the computer do it’s job before displaying “message sent” at the top of the screen. I exhaled and went back to cutting hair.
Later, Jeff texted me simply saying thanks. Something lifted from my shoulders. I went home and to sleep without my hands itching.

Can't...

Jeff and I got into a bit of an argument last night. Granted it was late and we were both tired which contributed I’m sure to this insanity but it still had my head spinning and still had me wanting to end it and walk away. So I did. This morning. Via text message in response to one he sent me, which is an icky way of doing things but I wanted to disentangle myself so badly that it was the only way I could see out. I don’t want to talk anymore. I just need to walk alone until I can figure out what to do next.

Aftercare...

The next morning I’m up at six. I immediately, without giving it much thought, consume the last of some granola I made last week. I try to calm down, reminding myself that I have no need to rush or hurry through my day. I have no reason to eat compulsively either. Not that I ever did or do but it’s such a welcome relief that I forget about the chaos that ensues later on.
I feel numb and slightly panicky. I’m afraid of the influx of feelings that I most certainly will feel at some point. It’s all the stuff I’ve avoided, but really, I have no idea what that even looks like right now.
I head to Alliance like usual on Sunday mornings. I order a large Americano and like usual, I sit in the window, wanting to write but do nothing but stare at my blank screen wishing for something to happen. I can’t think. Everything is fragmented and nothing makes sense. I don’t feel the glorious relief I felt when Charlie and I broke up. I feel like I’m trying to force something, some sort of emotion. I’m sad and confused. Tears spring to my eyes but dry before spilling. I’m trying to be still and let whatever is going to come up and out happen. I’m reminding myself that my thoughts and feelings won’t destroy me and that even though I’ve hit a rough patch, ultimately, I’m ok.
Dr. M.’s words turn over in my head. “Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Just wait for the dust to settle and things will be a little more clear.”
After finishing my Americano and jotting down some of my fragmented thoughts, I leave to go for a run. I keep checking in with myself trying to narrow down what it is I want to do. I desperately want to inhabit my body and care for myself, acknowledge myself instead of escaping. I won’t be seeing Jeff today. There is no rush to speed through anything. Allowing myself to simply be and not shoot from point A to B is a comforting relief. My decision to leave though, doesn’t feel completely right. It doesn’t feel wrong though. For the first time in months I am calm and not scrambling to get to where ever he is. I’m still turning over in my head what exactly happened, what it means and how I can change in the future.
I run for an hour and a half. I don’t remember the last time I did that. I actually have the energy and desire to do so. It felt amazing and I didn’t want to go home and contemplated going longer. I decided against it when my body started slowing down.
Once home I get cleaned up and head out again for the Paper Source. I wanted to get some things for my jewelry. Earlier in the month a co-worker helped explain the retail side of things to me when it comes to soliciting to stores. I’ve got a spreadsheet typed up and now, I need folders, a “look book”, and price tags among other things. I wander the store, fingers tracing everything. Nothing else in the world matters right now, but…right now. Why can’t I always be this way? When does the serenity come to an end the crazy begins?
I find what I’m looking for and head out again. I want a waffle with Nutella at the Iguana café. While walking there, out of no where, tears pour out of me hard and fast. These crying spells are the weirdest I’ve ever had. I’m not thinking anything, they just happen. In no time, they’re drying up and I’m walking through the door to sit by a window, with pen, paper, orange juice and the best waffle my mouth has ever experienced.
Later, back at home, I have an email from Jeff. He’s wanting to know if everything is ok because our breaking up was so out of the blue for him. He was also wondering if I felt I could no longer talk to him.
I’m not sure. I’m really not sure about anything. I sigh and decide to respond when I have something coherent to say. That comes faster than expected when my phone rings and Jeff’s name is blinking across the screen. I pick up and minutes later he’s on his way so we can go to a park and talk.
Talk about what I’m not sure. He’s upset with me most definitely. I’m not sure what exactly we’ll accomplish but I’m willing to see.
“Hi!” I beam because it’s so easy when I see him upon opening the door half an hour later.
“Hi.” he adjusts his backpack and I step aside, letting him in.
We walk upstairs and into my apartment where he places his bag on the floor and I get my keys.
“You wanna go to Millennium Park, or go across the street?” I ask.
“Across the street is fine.”
It’s weird not kissing him hello, not holding his hand as we walk. I’m trying to breathe and be normal .
“So.” I begin as we sit across from each other in a corner of the small park across from my apartment. “Why are you mad at me?”
Kids are playing in the pool behind us, and I think there’s a softball game going on as well. The sun is bright and hot…
“Because you broke up with me.”
I nod and begin bumbling through an explanation of how I wanted this work but it doesn’t for me.
“So what I’m hearing is that you’re not into me.”
I sigh and explain that I’m still attracted to him. I still find him amazing, I just need to seriously be alone. I feel the stuff I need to work on is stuff I have to do on my own.
The conversation moves all over the place. It’s one of the most honest conversations I think I’ve had with someone that I’ve been involved with. I can see how closed off I’ve been. I see how much I kept from him. I see and understand his fears and thoughts as well, and I wonder why it’s all coming out now that our relationship no longer exists. Why couldn’t we just talk about all of this when we were together? Why can’t I give myself to someone who is so obviously available and who obviously loves me and all my parts?
“I still like you. I still want to date you.” he tells me. “I just don’t want to talk you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“You’re not.” I want to date him too. He feels I keep him at arm’s length. I feel I keep everyone there. I fear losing something that’s really good because of my issues with not being able to open up. Then again, is it who we are together that keeps me in this weirdness of being mostly, but not completely open? I don’t even think I know what completely open is.
It’s getting chilly outside as the sun is going down. We decide to get dinner after deciding to try and simply date each other. His hand finds mine as we walk to a new Indian place not far from my house. Sitting across from him I feel calm. I listen to his soft deep voice tell me stories over spicy vegetables and rice and think ok, I can do this. Baby steps…

Tuesday...

It happened on a random Tuesday at the end of July. I woke up, eyes scanning my clock through blurry vision and thought “I have to leave. Now. I have to end this relationship.” I turned over on my back and stared at the ceiling investigating this feeling. “No. I’m being irrational.” I argue. I turn my head and let my eyes wander over Jeff’s sleeping face. “I’m not leaving.” I sigh and get out of bed.
For the past two weeks I’ve been completely insane. I’ve eaten myself into a frenzy, lost all interest in the gym and running, and have barely been able to fake a smile at work. Writing has also taken a back seat. I’ve fantasized about escaping. I immerse myself in lengthy day dreams of jumping ship, disappearing and starting over someplace out west like Seattle or even San Francisco. I imagine being tucked away in a tiny apartment, writing or making jewelry for a living. I imagine trolling around Europe’s winding cobblestone streets visiting coffee shop after coffee shop spending hours people watching and writing. The dream then switches to being in an open field of grass in Oak Park underneath a blue sky watching the white fluffy clouds pass me by.
Instead though I don’t acknowledge that I’m feeling anything. I bury all of this underneath muffins, cookies, “I’m fine’s” and “everything’s great’s”. I won’t let anyone in because I can’t even let myself in. I feel this mounting pressure sitting on my shoulders and I can’t get out from underneath it. It’s weight is moving into my lungs and constricting them to a point where I feel I can barely breathe.
“How are you?” Dr. M. asks as I follow her back to her office. It’s been a month since our last visit.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I’m not doing well.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.” she says as we sit opposite each other at her large desk. She’s introduced me to Dr. N. who will be replacing Dr. M. next month when she moves to Pennsylvania.
“I’m not sure. I’m eating way too much, work feels very strenuous and I’m just not sure about things with Jeff. I don’t know what to do.”
I feel I’m forcing myself to talk. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep…
Dr. M. listens and asks a few questions before going over some test results. She gives me another vitamin B12 shot. We discuss the plan for the next visit with Dr. N. and I leave.
A few weeks ago one of my co-workers was talking about her amazing therapist. This sparked various memories of conversations I’ve with other co-workers, friends and people from OA during my time here in Chicago about my possibly needing to go see one. I love Karen, but she’s in Atlanta. The phone works of course but I’d rather see someone face to face. I make an appointment to see Beth in Lakeview on August 2. I have no idea where to go with this, but I feel like I’m going in some direction and that feels ok for now.
Saturday rolls around and I feel I’m fit for a straightjacket. I can’t shake this feeling of needing to leave Jeff. I’ve abandoned my life yet again for a relationship. Nothing interests me anymore and I don’t know how to find the balance so, I want to run. I want to do away with the stressor that I can barely look at because I don’t want to see it. I go over in my mind what this will look like. I leave Jeff and then what? I can calm down and can breathe again which is all fine and good but what happens when someone else rolls around? I have a pattern and a habit here. Maybe I’ll be in a better place next time. Maybe I need to learn how to deal with it right now. Maybe I should tell Jeff. Maybe I should just leave because I don’t want to think about any of it. I miss myself.
I’m outside on my lunch break at the Unicorn with a mocha staring up at the sky mentally asking God for help.
“Tell me what to do. I have no idea. I can’t see anything except I am miserable and driving myself insane.”
Back at work, one of my favorite clients Breanne comes in. After hugs and squealing she asks what’s going on and if I’m still with Jeff as I shampoo her hair.
“Well…” I trail off. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can do this. I need to be alone. I need to figure some shit out and I feel I can’t do it while in a relationship. I feel stuck.”
“I suggest you tell him… now.” her face darkens. “That just happened to me. My boyfriend just out of the blue told me last week that he needed some time and space to himself. Tell. Jeff.”
Done and done. I guess that was all I needed because as I left work, I knew I was going to have to tell him as soon as humanly possible. I’ve felt dishonest the whole week walking around with this, wanting and pretending everything was ok. I feel he deserves so much more than me. I wish this could work. I want it to work but can’t see any way around it right now. Maybe in five years…
Jeff is working late. Then he get’s stuck really late. I remain awake though and when he arrives all smiles and smelling like coffee, I can barely look him in the face. We talk about work before he says “You wanted to chat?”
I nod in response. I texted him earlier saying I still wanted to see him even though he was getting out so late. I can’t find words. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m making a huge mistake or not. I do know that if I don’t take some time and be alone, then I’m going to explode into a million little pieces. If I am making a huge mistake I trust that God will have something else up his sleeve for me and if this isn’t a mistake then something else entirely different will happen.
Quietly I explain my growing depression, the fact that my hands won’t heal, my craziness surrounding my food and not being able to work like I want because it feels excruciating.
“I…don’t think I can be in a relationship.”
We’re holding hands, my fingers tracing his veins, his fingers going limp.
“Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”
The rest of the night is filled with who’s, what’s, why’s, and how’s before he decides that he’s going home. It’s well after 2am before I finally give into sleep.

Nature Lady...

I woke up this morning feeling anxious. I’m going to see Dr. M., the naturopathic doctor. It’s been a month since I’ve seen Dr. R. and while I’m excited to meet Dr. M., I’m really nervous because I have no idea what to expect. I’ve never done this before.
I go downtown to Intelligentsia to write and see Jeff as he’s opening this morning. It’s good to see him. I don’t stay long before jumping in a cab and heading over to the same building I found myself a month earlier.
Dr. M. is lively and beautiful. Her energetic voice calls out my name as I’m sitting in the large waiting room staring at nothing in particular. I couldn’t even read I was so wound up.
“Ok.” she says, glancing at her laptop which is propped open on her desk. I’m seated across from her admiring her long dark hair. “Let’s talk about PMS and constipation.”
Oh my. No foreplay with this one. I immediately start laughing.
“Oh yeah!” she laughs with me. “I wanna get right down to it!”
I explain everything while she types my responses to the questions she’s firing at me. I notice and she does too that I’m mentioning stress a lot.
“Tell me about this stress.” she looks up from her screen.
I tell her my current stressor is my relationship. I tell her about meeting Jeff, but having a feeling that he’s not the one but.. I’m not willing to leave.
“I have a good relationship, which is why I’m still here. Nothing is really clear to me yet though.” I explain.
“After four months, you’re not going to just “know”. Not everyone has that “feeling” immediately. One day you’ll wake up and you’ll know. Either way, it’ll be clear to you.”
She tells me about how she met her husband. “He was my good friend and we lived in different states. I dated all sorts of people and had a great time. He moved to Illinois and we started dating. Our relationship is drama-free which made me question it. I was so used to feeling crazy that this felt weird because it was so calm. That‘s what it looked like for me. You‘re going to have to figure out what works for you.”
I agree with everything she’s saying. I’m calm with Jeff as well. He’s easy to be around and we have a good time. I can’t shake this feeling though. I want to. I want to be rid of it but it follows me around like a puppy nipping at my heels. Despite my kicking it, snapping at it, trying to escape it, it always finds me again, always nipping…
“Jeff is practically perfection.” I tell her.
“If that’s so then what’s the problem?”
“We’re insanely similar and I’m not sure if that’s going to work long term. I…”
Tears interrupt my words.
“Tell me.” she says.
I want to speak. I want to tell her but I can seem to get the air in my lungs. “…lost the love of my life, Rob, in a car accident.” I say as quickly as possible.
“I’m so sorry.” she says quietly.
I nod, still trying to breathe.
“Are you still in love with him?
Interesting question. Sure my twenty six year old self could be. “Of course I still love him but I don’t wish for another life.”
It’s excruciating to admit that.
“I’m…even though it was a horrible thing to have to go through, I’m glad for the experience because I can’t imagine my life any other way.”
“Are you holding back with Jeff?” Dr M. asks.
“Not entirely. I’ve been able to tell him what I need and want but I feel there is this part of me that is holding back, like there’s some sort of blockage that’s keeping me from moving forward with him. It’s definitely on a subconscious level though. It’s not a decision I’m consciously making.”
“You’re ok. Your relationship is ok and will be ok.” she reminds me. “You’re in a spot where you’re kind of on a fence. Either he’ll ask you to make a decision or you’ll make it yourself. Whatever decision you make you’ll have to commit to. You won’t be able to ride the fence forever.”
True…
“How has your grieving been?”
“I feel it was one of the most healthy times in my life. I cried, I talked to people, I wrote and ran. I didn’t hold anything back and was able to accept the love that people so freely gave. It’s not so much like that now. I keep a lot of it to myself.”
“Ok. I’m going to give you two homeopathic remedies and another supplement to add to what Dr. R has already suggested and a B12 shot.”
I nod as if I know what she’s talking about.
“So. The first one is to help you move through your grief. It’s going to help you experience it and move through any residual stuff that may be there. Also I’m going to give you another one for boundary setting. It’s going to help you find your “voice” and make things a little more clear for you and help you let go and do what’s right for you.”
“Deal!” I beam.
“I’ll be back.” she tells me and leaves for a few minutes, then returning with a clear liquid in a plastic cup and a syringe.
“I want you to sip this. It should be only two sips but let it sit on your tongue for a sec before swallowing.”
I nod, reaching for the cup and following her instructions. It tastes like sugar water. After she injects my hip with B12 we talk about my diet which I hate because I have to explain my compulsive eating and what I eat when I’m not being compulsive and what I eat when I am.
She gives me a list of instructions. I’m trying not to be resistant. I’ll do what she says, I’m just nervous.
When I leave I feel desperate to write, to talk to Jeff, but also just let all of this sink in before doing anything. I walk to a mall on Michigan Ave and get Jeff some peanut butter truffles. I go back to Intelligentsia to write a little bit while he’s finishing up with work. We decide to eat sushi for lunch. I feel much better now than I did this morning.
“How was the doctor?” he asks while we’re walking.
“So good! I’ll tell you about it after we order food though. I hate trying to say a bunch of stuff while walking or being interrupted.”
“Ok, just be warned that I’m really tired and need a nap but I want to give you my full attention.”
“I know, and that crossed my mind. I thought about telling you all of this after you’ve slept some.”
A teeny bit of me wants to hold on to this experience with Dr. M. and not share it. It feels too emotional for some reason and would be easier to just swallow and digest it on my own.
When we’re seated across from each other though, I’m swallowing spicy tuna rolls and he’s telling me about his morning at work.
“Wanna go to the park?” he asks as we finish up.
“Yup!”
It’s bright and a gorgeous sixty seven degrees outside. We lay out in front of the amphitheater at Millennium Park. Everyone else has gotten the same idea as we’re surrounded by people playing Frisbee, eating, napping, running around etc.
Jeff asks me a question and I answer it but he doesn’t hear me because he’s gotten distracted by something. I’m getting aggravated. I’m still holding on to everything I want to say about this morning, sitting on it because I’m waiting for the “perfect” time to tell him. Except there is no perfect time. There is now and there is later.
My phone lights up with a text from one of my sponsees from OA. We’ll call her Stacy. She confesses that she’s been night eating because she’s in so much emotional pain and she’s not sharing it with people. She’s terrified to share the dark parts of her life because she’s afraid people will leave her.
God has impeccable timing doesn’t He?
I have to get over myself and text her back explaining that no matter what, she has to say it. She has to get it out. Why can’t I follow my own advice?
As I text her back I’m thinking “What is it that we’re wanting from people?” What does the perfect situation look like when we want to share things, and get stuff off our chests? I feel with Jeff, I have it. He wants to listen. I believe he’s there for me but then again, I don’t totally open up. I now have to ask myself, “Is it me, or what? Do I have trouble with my words and past issues because I’m not accepting of myself? I feel I’ll never be able to accept someone else’s love because I don’t accept me. It’s like nothing will ever be good enough because I can’t give myself enough love, acceptance or space to simply be and have all my feelings. When I think about the perfect situation it involves lots of listening and understanding when I’m rehashing details from whatever is on my mind. I still don’t feel satisfied though. Again I think it’s because I don’t believe I’m worth anything and don’t feel entitled to having feelings and so when I do, I don’t give them any acknowledgment.
“How are you doing?” Jeff asks on our way to the train.
I don’t give him a straight answer. I explain Stacy and how her texts are taking words right out of my brain, that we’re both having trouble talking.
By the time we get to my apartment I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. I forgot that I have an appointment to get waxed by Jenifer at the Ruby Room at five. (I so love this girl!) I don’t want to go. I want to write. Hell I don’t even want to talk anymore.
Jeff is sitting on my couch telling me he’d like to talk.
“I’m taking a shower.” I announce, thinking I’ll feel better afterward.
Not so much. I’m simply unwilling now and feeling awfully silly about the whole thing. We’re on the couch when I explain that I don’t want to share anymore.
“I’ve been holding it in all day which I realize is my choice but I don’t even want to talk about it now. I‘d rather just write.”
“I still want to listen to you but maybe it’ll be better if you write while I take a nap.” he says.
“OK.”
I go to Lovely and he goes home. Writing is good. I think about Jenifer on my way to see her an hour later. It’s really hard to be a client sometimes. I’m always in work mode, asking a million questions to avoid sharing myself. I decide not to be the service provider but the client today. I’ll tell her whatever I want and will do my best to be ok with it.
“Hi Melissa! Come on back!” Jenifer smiles upon my entering the salon. She shows me into her room and leaves while I remove clothing from my lower half and lay on my back on her table. I stare at a picture on the wall of a dandelion. My fingers find my stomach and push at the knots that inhabit it. Something inside my mind lets go and the tears come. I see in this moment that I haven’t been giving myself room to acknowledge how I feel. I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling but it’s something. A teeny space has opened up to reveal that my constant anger is compensating for something else. What it is, I don’t know. Maybe I do and I just don’t want to admit it.
The door opens and Jenifer walks in just as I had dried my eyes. She looks at me a second longer than usual as if to asses my situation but says nothing.
Our chatting soon starts up though beginning with work. When we get quiet again I relay the events of today to her.
“I don’t know why I don’t want to talk to Jeff about it anymore! It’s like a switch flipped or something.”
She explains it perfect when she says “You were excited when you were excited. Now you’re frustrated because you couldn’t express it when you wanted to.”
“Exactly!” I squeal. “I still don’t want to tell him and I may never tell him, or maybe I will tomorrow. Who knows but even if I tell him, I’m still gonna be pissed.”
“Of course. It won’t be satisfying.”
“Yes!”
“Just wait until you’re ready.”
When I finish with Jenifer I go to Alliance and continue writing. I’ve heard nothing from Jeff and I’m getting hungry. I go get sushi again. Once I’m home I text him.
“I assume I won’t see you tonight.”
This starts a dialogue with him replying saying that he thought I may want more time to write and me responding with I just wanted a more concrete plan regardless.
He calls and we start talking about where we’re each coming from. He felt repelled by me. I got tired of waiting to say stuff to him. We rehash the events of today, breaking it all down. I feel tears threatening again an hour later for reasons I can’t even understand. I blink them back.
Another half an hour later we’re off the phone and I’m eating chocolate. I don’t really want it. I just want to want it. After a few bites I put it away. It’s doing nothing for me.
I try to get still and find a definition for what it is I feel once I’m tucked into bed. I try to get to the place I entered while on Jenifer’s table. I fall asleep though, never getting there.

Doctor...

I was in the break room a few weeks ago listening to two of my co-workers gush about their experience with an M.D. who also practices a more holistic approach to traditional medicine and perked up. When I asked who she was and where she was located my co-worker immediately gave me her name and address. She’s conveniently located downtown and takes our insurance thank God.
It didn’t take long for me to make an appointment. Nothing is particularly wrong, I just haven’t been to see anyone in a long time. My co-workers confessed to being emotional during their visits. Apparently this isn’t like your typical visit to the doctor. This woman, Dr. R. really listens and is actually interested in her patient’s emotional well being as well as the physical stuff. I have to admit I was most looking forward to a safe place to let go and cry if need be. I wasn’t sure if I’d keep the happy face on for her if I’d let go and see what would happen.
I question these thoughts. Why can’t I just cry when I need to, or say what I want? I can’t even cry in my usual spots right now. Not on Division, or Milwaukee Ave. Not in the shower or in the Evanston bathroom. Nothing. Yet the urge is there. The skin on my fingers are weeping enough with my aggravated dermatitis. Some stubborn, hateful part of me is hanging on to every tear I’d like to unleash.
On May 5th I woke up early, got dressed and decided to be fancy and take a cab to the enormous building just a few blocks from Michigan Ave.
My head is a little light as I didn’t eat this morning because of the lab work that would happen later. I stopped at Argo Tea for some chamomile and wrote for a bit before walking back, entering the massive building and taking the elevator to the fifth floor. I walk into a large beautifully decorated waiting room and the tell the girl behind the large desk that I’m here to see Dr. R., and she tells me to have a seat.
A few minutes later I’m being called back into another office by a woman who handles all the insurance and payment.
“I love your hot pink bag!” she exclaims as I sit down across from he at her desk.
“Thank you!” I laugh. Everyone loves my hot pink Hello Kitty bag.
“You have your paper work right?” she asks.
“I do.” I reach into the bag and produce a stack of papers I printed earlier in the week containing the answers to many many questions about my medical history and current conditions. One question in particular had tears stinging my eyes. It was “Do you use substances ( caffeine, alcohol…) to deal with every day stress?
Caffeine. Yes. I hate that I do this to myself. Sure one cup of coffee isn’t horrible, but the atrocious amount I’m currently consuming is not ok. The reason why I do it is also not ok. I want to stay up, elevated, lifted. That’s not something I can sustain without a lil help…
Once my information is saved in the computer, co-pay taken, I am introduced to Dr. R.
“Come on back!” she smiles warmly at me and I follow her into her office where she invites me to have a seat, complimenting my bag. Hehe.
We briefly discuss my employment, stress, dermatitis, Jeff, exercise, food and my eating disorder before bringing the topic of discussion back to work.
“Who says we have to stick to one career for the rest of our lives?” she asks.
I laugh and agree. I have this idea that I can’t be anything else right now though. I think I’m unwilling really. I’m just wanting to enjoy what I have for now before figuring anything else out.
“What other stressors are in your life?’ she asks.
I’m tempted to say nothing, that what I’ve already stated is enough but…that would be a lie.
“Um…” I exhale and my eyes flood. I can’t speak.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I lost the love of my life in a car accident two years ago.” I say as quickly as possible just to get it out of my head.
“I’m so sorry.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’m having a tough time moving through the grief. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the past two years but I can’t stand the fact that I’m still hurting and no idea what to do in my current relationship.”
“Do you feel him?” she asks.
“Yes.” I smile. “I never share that because I feel crazy!”
“It’s real though and it’s so great to have that guide. Our relationships never end no matter where we go.”
She tells me about losing her grandmother and says she still feels her around. She also tells me that thirteen years ago she gave birth to twin boys and one didn’t make it.
“He’s with me every day though, guiding me.”
“How do you know?” I ask, wondering what she feels.
“I just feel him. I know here’s there.” she explains.
I nod knowing good and well there’s no way to explain it. I feel Rob differently now than I used to. Right after he died I felt his hand was always on the back of my shoulder. I don’t really feel that anymore. It’s more of a “knowing” on some level that he’s still with me.
“Rob is your point of reference.” she reminds me. “He’s your guide for all your relationships. If something is lacking then it’s time to let go.”
I’m happy to hear her say this. I feel it in my gut, I just don’t talk about it…this reference thing. It’s not that I want what I had as I knew it, because I’m different now, it’s just that I don’t want anything less.
“It’s all about the journey.” she smiles.
I wish I could remember that always. I’m all about the destination forgetting to smell the flowers, feel my feet in grass and look up at the sunshine, or even feel the rain on my face along the way to where ever it is I’m going.
I’m going to refer you to a naturopathic doctor. Her name is Dr. M. and she’ll talk to you more about hormonal and emotional balancing.
I nod. I’m up for anything at this point.
“Come with me, I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
I follow her into an exam room. My blood pressure is low.
“More water and less caffeine.” she instructs as she unleashes my arms from the cuff.
She lists a variety of supplements I’m to take starting as soon as possible before sending me off to the lab for blood work. I’m committed to trying it but I’m wondering what the point of it all is. Did God intend for us to take such things?
I. Hate. Blood. Work. Tattoo me all day but stick one needle directly into a vein and I want to get violent. My blood moves slower than molasses and I’m trying to breathe through the experience.
“I like your bag!” the technician tells me and I laugh thanking her.
Later, once I’m needle-free and released out into the world, I’ve purchased some supplements, made an appointment to see Dr. M. soon and am calling Jeff. We agree to meet at the Grand redline.
My head is spinning. I’m trying to let everything sink in plus squash the desire to vomit the whole experience on him. I want to write about it first but I’m also wanting to simply be in his presence, feeling like I need him to ground me a bit as I don’t know how to identify my feelings and that feels scary.
“Hi!” I hug and kiss him when we meet on the corner, both of us starving and not sure what to eat. He’ll have to work later so we don’t want to get too far.
I’d like to try a little café on Ontario but he wants Thai. Ok. I’m starving and am trying not to care. I can go to the café some other day.
He asks about the doctor and I’m trying to explain but it’s hard because we’re walking trying to find our way and the streets are noisy. I don’t want to yell all of this.
We get seated at the restaurant near an open window. The music is blaring and I feel like I’m screaming at him. Frustration is building. I’m upset with myself for wanting to talk and tell him every last detail, my words getting tangled. Why do I have to talk? Why does it feel so good but completely ridiculous at the same time?
Both of us talk and talk and talk about relationships, past stuff and future stuff. I’m glad we can be so open with each other. I’m glad he’s willing to work through things. My main question is that when does work become “too much” work? When do you just have to throw in the towel and say “enough.”?
I overeat. Of course. I feel like I’m in a coma. Not because of the food but because of something else. Something I can’t identify. I start telling him about a crazy client I had last night. I can tell he’s distracted and I’m trying to be ok with it. I don’t really need to share this. I can tell it to my computer screen or my journal. Once we’re outside I stop talking all together. I feel I’m too much for people. I’m always going a mile a minute and I feel it wears people out. When I try to contain it though I feel that I’m not being a hundred percent true to myself. I feel I’m putting a lid on myself and if that continues I’ll explode like glass shattering, sending pieces flying out into the open air scraping everything around me.
Jeff and I walk down Michigan Ave and stop in a mall where I notice on the directory a Hello Kitty store is calling my name from one of the top floors.
“You wanna go in?” Jeff asks.
Yes.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I need to get paid first.” Which is a partial truth. I want to go, I just don’t want to subject him to the land of my squealing over everything pink and girly.
We stop at a café near Nordstrom’s and sit on a couch watching people walk by. We’re quiet. I don’t want to talk. I feel angry. Not at him but at myself, for eating too much, for not speaking up, for feeling like I was rambling. He tries to pull all of this out of me. I feel pressured to talk. I will eventually but not while the pressure that I’m feeling is closing in around me.
As I try to explain what I can he has to leave for work. I knew this and didn’t really want to launch into an in depth conversation right before he had to leave.
“Will you walk with me?” he asks.
Absolutely not. I want to scream. I tell him I’m going to go to the Hello Kitty store. (I couldn’t stop thinking about it!)
We say goodbye, kissing, before he leaves and I go upstairs. I am so angry! I have no idea why except that I didn’t speak up about lunch. It’s over and done with though. Why can’t I let it go?
I walk around the store feeling like I’m five again remembering all the times mom would take us to the mall, buying us a cookie from the Great American Cookie Company and letting us walk around the Hello Kitty store at Southlake mall. I want to be that little girl again sometimes. I want my mother’s warm hand holding mine. I want to lay my head somewhere and feel safe. Out here bumbling around, getting swept up in the strong current of my thoughts doesn’t feel safe or comforting but absolutely terrifying. I grasping for anything to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.
I leave the store empty handed. I exit the mall and enter the sea of people crowding Michigan Ave. I walk all the way to Clark and Lake then take the train home. I fall asleep for an hour on the couch then head out for a run.
Jeff texts me asking if I’m upset with him. I text him back saying I’m upset with myself and run through a green light. No response. After running I go to Whole Foods, get dinner and walk home where I make a necklace before falling asleep…