I'm off today. I got up crazy early feeling anxious. I can't pinpoint where it's coming from but it's eating me alive. I put a ton of pressure on myself to enjoy every last second of my days off that I can't actually relax long enough to do it. It's like I somehow feel I don't deserve to have fun, to have a life because while assisting I've spent too much time being focused on everyone else and what they might need from me at any given time. I don't know how to turn it off. I desperately want to sink into my creative endeavors, get lost in them and scrape away the stress of the week but it never works out that way. I end up being more wound up because I can't think to write, procrastinating is much more appealing, plus I tend to get caught up too much in what people might think to make my jewelry. What happened? What happened to enjoying these things? I used to. It used to dive head first into all of it and get such satisfaction at their completion. Lately it's been such a great stressor that I won't go near the computer or open my box of sparkly making supplies. I'm scared of people again...scared of expressing myself, or letting you see that expression. My inner critic is so loud that it paralyzes me, reducing to daydreaming only.
I spend my morning bouncing from coffee shop to coffee shop trying to get comfortable. Outside influences are grating on my nerves. From the NPR radio playing at one place to the loud mouthed lady yelling her opinions about something she's trying to do with her job to a man sitting just a few inches from her, I'm not sure I'm actually going to get anything down on paper. Cipollina is where I finally settle down. For whatever reason today I'm afraid that if I'm not out and about, I might miss something. Thoughts of food consume my mind. I have no idea what I'm running from or what it is I'm so scared of. I'm sick of picking at myself for not being "productive" enough. Prodective enough for what and for whom? Who's judging me? No one. No one because I can't seem to let anyone in long enough to do so. I can't even let myself in right now because I fear the harshness I unleash on my already fragile self esteem. An hour later when I've left Cipollina I go for a run. It feels good to get out and move. I was hoping for some clarity on what's buggin' me but nothing really happens. Still, I'm glad I went. On my way home I'm stopped at stop sign waiting for a car to pass. For whatever reason I look down and see the words "I love you" spelled out next to my feet. I stare at this image and find myself smiling. "I love you, I love you, I love you..." I repeat over and over to Rob.
At home I grab my purse and head to the gym. I'm trying to slow down, calm down and breathe through my workout. Nothing is helping. When I leave I cath the train to the grocery store, then walk home. Once I'm through the door I think about all the things I could be or should be doing My head is going to explode. I drop the idea of writing, necklace making, laundry, or paying bills. In my room I find a box of "bath bombs" one of my clients gave me for Christmas. I pull out a purple one with star confetti in it, pick up a book and head to the bathroom. I turn on the water, peel off my sweaty clothes and drop the "bomb' in the tub. The sparkly confetti is released. I giggle to myself thinking those stars are going to be attached to my ass when all of this is said and done. I carefully sink into the hot water once the tub is half full. When I'm settled I reach for my book but don't open it. I stare straight ahead at the faucet. Tiny drop of water are slowly peeking out from the spout before falling with a subtle splash into the tub.
"Honey?" I say to Rob in my mind. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm all over the place and feel I can't calm down. I know you're here with me. I just feel a bit lost at the moment. I feel like I'm wandering away from you, letting food, work and guilt run my life. I just want to calm down." Tears pool in my eyes and eventually fall. I ask over and over again for him to stay, to never leave. I reach for and open my book when I'm feeling out of words. I place the bookmark on the edge of the tub. It's centered there, not leaning one way or another. There is no air circulating in the bathroom only a comfortable, still, silence. Minutes into my reading the bookmark falls to the floor. A heavy calm fills my chest as I stare at the spot where it once was. I don't move. My brain immediately tries to rationalize how this just happened. It draws a blank. Carefully I sit up, pick the bookmark up off the floor and place it back where it was. I stare at it, waiting for it to move again. It doesn't. I go back to reading. I'm not sure how much time passed but I feel I should get up and get movin'. I need to wash my hair and rinse the confetti off of me. I stand up turning the shower on after undoing the drain. The hot spray splashes onto my back. I stand there for a moment, not moving before getting to my hair and getting out. I pull the shower curtain back and step out of the tub. My favorite swimsuit from swim team in high school is draped over one end of the shower rail and my roommate's wash cloth is hanging on the other end. I reach for my towel and dry off before pulling out my blowdryer and get busy on my hair. Minutes into this my swimsuit falls to the floor. By itself. I turn the dryer off, walk over to it, pick it up and go back to my hair, keeping one eye on the suit. Again this intense calm washes over me and I feel it's Rob making his presence known. As much as I'd like to share this immediately, I think "who would believe me?" How do I describe what just happened? There is no way really to fully explain what this calm inside me feels like. It doesn't stay either. I do try very hard not to question it but accept that it's happening and enjoy it for what it is before it moves along again until the next time...
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Close...
Close…
I'm back at Halsted the next morning, caffinated and ready to go. I'm assisting Candace today for the most part and feel better today than yesterday. After taking care of several of her clients another one is ready to be shampooed after the usual half hour processing time.
I approach the pretty, blonde with small brown eyes and a head full of foil and get her situated in the shampoo bowl. Once I pull all the foil out I lean her back and shampoo her hair. We chat briefly before she closes her eyes and I continue until everything is rinsed out.
“I like your tattoos.” she tells me when we've walked over to the blowdry station and I've started drying her hair.
“Thank you.” I smile.
“How many do you have?”
“Eleven!” I laugh.
“Really?!” she exclaims.
I love watching people’s reaction to this news.
“I just have one.” she tells me and pulls up her pants leg to reveal a beautiful, small pink flower and the letter “T” next to it. “It’s for my sister. She died about 2 years ago.”
“Really.” I stop briefly and look at her.
“Yeah. Cancer.”
I carefully ask her questions, curious about her experience and she answers all of them. I feel we’re the only two people in the room as I listen intently to her story.
It doesn’t take long for me to tell her about Rob. It feels so good to share this with her. It’s amazing to be able to explain this to someone, to be able to feel close to another person who has lost someone.
“Are there days when grief eats you up?” I ask.
“Of course. One day you’re fine, the next you’re not. I think we’ll be this way our whole lives. It never really goes away.”
I agree.
“Do you ever feel her?”
“I do. It’ll be a song or I’ll see something that reminds me of her suddenly, and just “know” that it’s her telling me she’s still around. My mother feels it too. Something really crazy that happened was one day we were driving, my mom, my sister’s daughter and me and we were talking about my sister and her daughter goes “But Mommy’s right here.” and I explained that no, she was in Heaven and she said “No she’s not. She’s sitting right here.” Children are much closer to that, I dunno, side of things than we are. What about you?”
I have chills. I explain the South Carolina license plates, the random “I love yous” that I see around, songs, the water that turned on in my house without explanation shortly after he died etc…I feel less alone and less crazy knowing someone else has had these experiences. I tend to keep them to myself. Our conversation continues. It’s taking me forever to finish her hair but I’m so wrapped up in this that I don’t want her to leave. I love how she tells me she still gets insanely angry because all she wants is to hear her sister’s voice and she can’t pick up the phone to call her. I love to hear how she’ll take it out on other people, and recognizes that it’s only because she can’t have her sister. I do all of this. I hate admitting it. I hate admitting that I hurt so much that I sometimes want to hurt other people.
I can see myself in the mirror talking to her, big smile plastered across my face, being extra animated so as not to cry. It would be ok to do so with her but I refuse to at work, so I keep the front up.
Later, long after she’s gone I tell Candace about how I loved talking with her and about how I’m so not tolerant of my own process, about how I can listen to other people talk about their experience, not judge them, but judge myself so harshly.
“Why?” she asks.
“It’s opening up…feeling entitled to feel all of this is hard when I’m used to pushing everything away.”
“It’s ok for you to take the time you need.” she reminds me.
I want to believe her, I do…
I'm back at Halsted the next morning, caffinated and ready to go. I'm assisting Candace today for the most part and feel better today than yesterday. After taking care of several of her clients another one is ready to be shampooed after the usual half hour processing time.
I approach the pretty, blonde with small brown eyes and a head full of foil and get her situated in the shampoo bowl. Once I pull all the foil out I lean her back and shampoo her hair. We chat briefly before she closes her eyes and I continue until everything is rinsed out.
“I like your tattoos.” she tells me when we've walked over to the blowdry station and I've started drying her hair.
“Thank you.” I smile.
“How many do you have?”
“Eleven!” I laugh.
“Really?!” she exclaims.
I love watching people’s reaction to this news.
“I just have one.” she tells me and pulls up her pants leg to reveal a beautiful, small pink flower and the letter “T” next to it. “It’s for my sister. She died about 2 years ago.”
“Really.” I stop briefly and look at her.
“Yeah. Cancer.”
I carefully ask her questions, curious about her experience and she answers all of them. I feel we’re the only two people in the room as I listen intently to her story.
It doesn’t take long for me to tell her about Rob. It feels so good to share this with her. It’s amazing to be able to explain this to someone, to be able to feel close to another person who has lost someone.
“Are there days when grief eats you up?” I ask.
“Of course. One day you’re fine, the next you’re not. I think we’ll be this way our whole lives. It never really goes away.”
I agree.
“Do you ever feel her?”
“I do. It’ll be a song or I’ll see something that reminds me of her suddenly, and just “know” that it’s her telling me she’s still around. My mother feels it too. Something really crazy that happened was one day we were driving, my mom, my sister’s daughter and me and we were talking about my sister and her daughter goes “But Mommy’s right here.” and I explained that no, she was in Heaven and she said “No she’s not. She’s sitting right here.” Children are much closer to that, I dunno, side of things than we are. What about you?”
I have chills. I explain the South Carolina license plates, the random “I love yous” that I see around, songs, the water that turned on in my house without explanation shortly after he died etc…I feel less alone and less crazy knowing someone else has had these experiences. I tend to keep them to myself. Our conversation continues. It’s taking me forever to finish her hair but I’m so wrapped up in this that I don’t want her to leave. I love how she tells me she still gets insanely angry because all she wants is to hear her sister’s voice and she can’t pick up the phone to call her. I love to hear how she’ll take it out on other people, and recognizes that it’s only because she can’t have her sister. I do all of this. I hate admitting it. I hate admitting that I hurt so much that I sometimes want to hurt other people.
I can see myself in the mirror talking to her, big smile plastered across my face, being extra animated so as not to cry. It would be ok to do so with her but I refuse to at work, so I keep the front up.
Later, long after she’s gone I tell Candace about how I loved talking with her and about how I’m so not tolerant of my own process, about how I can listen to other people talk about their experience, not judge them, but judge myself so harshly.
“Why?” she asks.
“It’s opening up…feeling entitled to feel all of this is hard when I’m used to pushing everything away.”
“It’s ok for you to take the time you need.” she reminds me.
I want to believe her, I do…
Monday, February 1, 2010
Song #420...
I'm up at 5am. My hands are driving me insane. Their constant itching woke me up. I stare at the ceiling, not completely able to see it through my blurry vision but it's dark and doesn't matter. My heart is racing and I'm anxious for whatever reason. I don't want to be an assistant today. There is nothing else going on but that. I'm not sure I can take one more minute of it.
I exhale and pull myself out of bed. My usual routine is accomplished without much thought. My arms begin to tingle and in my head I'm screaming at them to stop. Once the tingling starts it's over with. My hands are sparked again and begin to blister. I can almost watch this happen. They swell and fluid comes out of them taking weeks to heal. I try to ignore this and get dressed.
I go to Alliance to journal for a little bit but mostly I stare out the window, watching the cars and people go by. I love this time of the morning. The sky is just beginning to lighten up, and everything is still practially silent. It's the only time of day I feel still and somewhat calm. When my Americano is finished I pack up head head home.
Once through the door I'm at the computer charging my iPOD shuffle. As I scroll down the list of purchased songs on iTUNES looking for something "new" to listen to I come across Train's "When I Look to the Sky". I don't remember downloading this. I listen to it, while looking at what number on iTUNES it is. It's number 420. April 20th. The day Rob died. The chorus goes...
Cause when I look to the sky, something tells me you're here with me
And you make everything alright.
And when I feel like I'm lost, something tells me you're here with me
And I can always find my way when you are here...
I stare at the computer screen. Why don't I remember this song? How did I miss it? I don't even remember downloading it but it's reappeared at the best possible time. I don't want to feel any emotion. I shut off my brain as the song continues to play and take a shower.
Later while standing in front of the mirror, putting on mascara, tears come. I blink them back. More come and spill down my cheeks. I stand back and wait for something else to hit but nothing does. I'm not even sure why I'm crying. I wipe my face, get dressed, pack up my work things, put my iPOD in my ears, and head out.
I'm working at our Halsted location this week. I walk there when I can. It's a good solid forty minutes but I don't mind it. I'm approaching the bridge I walk across each time I come this way and the Train song starts playing. My brain starts dreaming up images of publishing my novel and how nice that would be. Then suddenly an idea of getting home from work, and cooking dinner with Rob pours itself into me. In my mind he's there as I vent about work, saying I can't take it anymore and his warm gentle self reminds me that I came here for a bigger purpose and not to worry because he's right here. This yet again sparks the memory of standing on the purple line train platform after my interview with Cyndi telling him I was in love with Art+Science, then flashing to sitting on the phone with him telling him I had this feeling that he was going to leave me...then he died...and while it's just me here in Chicago, I know he didn't leave me entirely. He's been on this adventure with me the whole time. It's just that today, for whatever reason I am desperate to hold him. I want to feel the humaness of him I used to feel. I miss his skin, his warm expressions, his voice, his kisses, his everything. My first year in Chicago has gone by, full of so much wonderful insanity. I am grieving the absence of the experience of sharing this life with him.
I am hit so hard with this grief and hurt that it nearly doubles me over as I walk across the bridge. My legs go numb, my stomach is flip flopping and there isn't enough air in the atmosphere to fill my lungs. I almost welcome this, like I missed it or something. I somehow feel closer to him when these moments happen. It's such an intense release that I wonder how long I've been harboring it. I can't fully explain it. Underneath it all, it's as if he's in some way telling me to hang on, don't give up because it's almost over. It's a teeny tiny little feeling that is barely whispering but it's there and I hear it. Do I believe it? I don't know. I want to but I can't see how it's going to end.
The tears don't stop. They follow me all the way to work, into the salon, and stay with me as I do what I've been doing for 14 months now. While folding towels in the basement, I tell Annie about it, looking for some comfort, some sort of understanding even though I feel I'm not making any sense. Her words fill me up and I'm feeling this rush of another emotional release pour out of me so hard and fast that once again it's hard to function.
"What triggered this?" she asks.
"I have no idea. Just this thought of feeling desperate to go home to him, to cook dinner with him and unload all this stuff, then suddenly it was like, 'Wait. He's not even here.' It felt like I just learned all over again that he's gone."
"He not gone. He's still here." she smiles and hugs me hard.
"Annie! Your client is here" Ashley yells to her from upstairs.
"Thanks for being here." I grin at her.
"Always."
I later close the salon alone and start walking home. I missed a call from Charlie earlier and decide to call him back.
"How's it goin'?" he asks.
"Ok." I nod, head suddenly swimming.
"Any good drama?"
I giggle at this. "Um...uh.." I have plenty to say but I can't form words. I am completely without emotion, without anything. "I'm sorry. I just left work. I'm really tired and can't form complete sentences."
There is something inside me that is putting up a huge wall between me and him. Well... I think it's always been there. It holds my emotions, thoughts, myself essentially and bottles them up as a protective measure. Whatever it is that's holding on to everything is protecting me from giving anything else to this situation. It's not right. It never was as much as I wanted it to be. Something beyond me is holding me back and the more I fight it the tighter it holds on so I let go and in letting go, I have nothing else to share. I reverse everything and talk about him until we get off the phone and I walk home and gratefully fall into bed.
I exhale and pull myself out of bed. My usual routine is accomplished without much thought. My arms begin to tingle and in my head I'm screaming at them to stop. Once the tingling starts it's over with. My hands are sparked again and begin to blister. I can almost watch this happen. They swell and fluid comes out of them taking weeks to heal. I try to ignore this and get dressed.
I go to Alliance to journal for a little bit but mostly I stare out the window, watching the cars and people go by. I love this time of the morning. The sky is just beginning to lighten up, and everything is still practially silent. It's the only time of day I feel still and somewhat calm. When my Americano is finished I pack up head head home.
Once through the door I'm at the computer charging my iPOD shuffle. As I scroll down the list of purchased songs on iTUNES looking for something "new" to listen to I come across Train's "When I Look to the Sky". I don't remember downloading this. I listen to it, while looking at what number on iTUNES it is. It's number 420. April 20th. The day Rob died. The chorus goes...
Cause when I look to the sky, something tells me you're here with me
And you make everything alright.
And when I feel like I'm lost, something tells me you're here with me
And I can always find my way when you are here...
I stare at the computer screen. Why don't I remember this song? How did I miss it? I don't even remember downloading it but it's reappeared at the best possible time. I don't want to feel any emotion. I shut off my brain as the song continues to play and take a shower.
Later while standing in front of the mirror, putting on mascara, tears come. I blink them back. More come and spill down my cheeks. I stand back and wait for something else to hit but nothing does. I'm not even sure why I'm crying. I wipe my face, get dressed, pack up my work things, put my iPOD in my ears, and head out.
I'm working at our Halsted location this week. I walk there when I can. It's a good solid forty minutes but I don't mind it. I'm approaching the bridge I walk across each time I come this way and the Train song starts playing. My brain starts dreaming up images of publishing my novel and how nice that would be. Then suddenly an idea of getting home from work, and cooking dinner with Rob pours itself into me. In my mind he's there as I vent about work, saying I can't take it anymore and his warm gentle self reminds me that I came here for a bigger purpose and not to worry because he's right here. This yet again sparks the memory of standing on the purple line train platform after my interview with Cyndi telling him I was in love with Art+Science, then flashing to sitting on the phone with him telling him I had this feeling that he was going to leave me...then he died...and while it's just me here in Chicago, I know he didn't leave me entirely. He's been on this adventure with me the whole time. It's just that today, for whatever reason I am desperate to hold him. I want to feel the humaness of him I used to feel. I miss his skin, his warm expressions, his voice, his kisses, his everything. My first year in Chicago has gone by, full of so much wonderful insanity. I am grieving the absence of the experience of sharing this life with him.
I am hit so hard with this grief and hurt that it nearly doubles me over as I walk across the bridge. My legs go numb, my stomach is flip flopping and there isn't enough air in the atmosphere to fill my lungs. I almost welcome this, like I missed it or something. I somehow feel closer to him when these moments happen. It's such an intense release that I wonder how long I've been harboring it. I can't fully explain it. Underneath it all, it's as if he's in some way telling me to hang on, don't give up because it's almost over. It's a teeny tiny little feeling that is barely whispering but it's there and I hear it. Do I believe it? I don't know. I want to but I can't see how it's going to end.
The tears don't stop. They follow me all the way to work, into the salon, and stay with me as I do what I've been doing for 14 months now. While folding towels in the basement, I tell Annie about it, looking for some comfort, some sort of understanding even though I feel I'm not making any sense. Her words fill me up and I'm feeling this rush of another emotional release pour out of me so hard and fast that once again it's hard to function.
"What triggered this?" she asks.
"I have no idea. Just this thought of feeling desperate to go home to him, to cook dinner with him and unload all this stuff, then suddenly it was like, 'Wait. He's not even here.' It felt like I just learned all over again that he's gone."
"He not gone. He's still here." she smiles and hugs me hard.
"Annie! Your client is here" Ashley yells to her from upstairs.
"Thanks for being here." I grin at her.
"Always."
I later close the salon alone and start walking home. I missed a call from Charlie earlier and decide to call him back.
"How's it goin'?" he asks.
"Ok." I nod, head suddenly swimming.
"Any good drama?"
I giggle at this. "Um...uh.." I have plenty to say but I can't form words. I am completely without emotion, without anything. "I'm sorry. I just left work. I'm really tired and can't form complete sentences."
There is something inside me that is putting up a huge wall between me and him. Well... I think it's always been there. It holds my emotions, thoughts, myself essentially and bottles them up as a protective measure. Whatever it is that's holding on to everything is protecting me from giving anything else to this situation. It's not right. It never was as much as I wanted it to be. Something beyond me is holding me back and the more I fight it the tighter it holds on so I let go and in letting go, I have nothing else to share. I reverse everything and talk about him until we get off the phone and I walk home and gratefully fall into bed.
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