Work today is much calmer than yesterday. Thank God. Yesterday, even though it was tough, I made this old lady’s curling iron set my bitch, told a crazy chick that no, I was not cutting her bangs because the first thing she said to me when she sat in my chair was “Don’t touch my bangs.” and made some picky college girls happy with several long layered haircuts.
Today though, everyone was calm, including me. No one really had instructions for their hair, they just wanted it to look better. This frees my brain up to have it move as it wants, creating what I want within the boundaries that have been set upon meeting these people, such as “don’t cut it too short but I don’t mind a lot of layers” and the like.
I start feeling a little weird about my blog all the sudden after a few haircuts. My mind wanders to the Facebook friend request that I got from Jeff the day after we met. The link is attached to Facebook. Hmmm…I text him.
“Love, have you read any of my blog?”
He texts back, “Some of it. Not as much as I’d like to. I like the way you write. Do you mind?”
“Nope.” It’s not that I mind, I’m just nervous.
“I’ve read up to “Heart Shaped Cloud.” he texts.
I get online and log on to the blog, looking to see what he knows already. I was thinking about telling him about OA tonight. I’m starting to feel a little weird about food and feel that I need to explain, plus I want to share about my Wednesday night “mystery” plans. I scroll through the entries leading up to “Heart Shaped Cloud” and see that he does in fact know about OA. Oh damn. I wasn’t entirely expecting that.
“Hmmm. That’s the tough part.” a friend tells me when I unload all of this blog/OA mess on her. “You never know how they’re going to react. That’s their deal though. I know it’s tough. You just gotta do it, just gotta say it. Besides, he already knows and hasn’t gone running for the hills yet. I think you’re ok.”
I exhale. I think she’s right. It’s just the anticipation of talking about this that puts me on edge.
Work ends. I meet Jeff at the Belmont red line stop. Today is Valentine’s Day. We go to a Mexican place not far from the train. It’s not crazy but still busy. We’re seated next to a huge window.
After ordering I’m trying to figure out how to bring up this OA thing. He practically does it for me though when he mentions my blog again admitting to reading it on his breaks at work.
“So you’ve read up to Heart Shaped Cloud right?” I ask.
“Oh I’m done with 2008.” he grins.
I laugh and tell him I’m asking because I wanted to tell him some stuff and was curious as to how much he’s read.
“I started with your most recent one. “Closer” I think it is? Then decided to start at the beginning.”
“How long have you been reading it?” I ask.
“Since we became Facebook friends.”
Oh my.
“So I knew about Rob and everything.” he says.
I nod. “I realize my blog is very much public and it’s attached to my Facebook account but I was still taken aback when I saw what you’ve read so far.”
He laughs and I feel my skin heat up.
“So…you’ve already read about what I wanted to tell you.” I stare at the wall avoiding eye contact. “I can’t keep saying “Oh I have this “thing” to do every Wednesday night without eventually explaining it. I have a compulsive eating disorder.”
He nods. I exhale. “Substance Abuse?” he quotes the title of one of my blog entries.
“Yup.”
I go on to tell him about some of the people I’ve met here through OA, my experience with Charlie, and about some co-workers I’ve opened up to.
He listens until I’m quiet and asks if giving me cupcakes and candy if off limits.
“Yup.” Of course I want to eat all of it but know better.
Back at my apartment we’re cuddled up on my bed and I’m listening to him tell me things about his life. I devour his words, grateful for his ability to open up, his expression of his feelings and relaying of past events. This leads me to open up more to him. It’s scary but words leave my mouth, relaying more heavy stuff, and he hears them.
“You’ve been through a lot.” he says quietly.
I nod, not knowing what to do next.
“You’re a really strong person.”
I still feel really broken after all the crazy that’s happened. I hope I haven’t scared him…
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Smattering of Ramblings...
It’s February tenth again. I’m off from work and trying to get comfortable. Nothing will ease my mind. Caffeine certainly isn’t helping. I want to go through my usual routine of running, the gym, coffee and writing but I’m unsettled. Nothing is interesting or feels worth doing today.
I try to write in my journal, try to write Jeff a letter but nothing is really coming out. I’m frustrated because I have the time to do whatever, to write and or say whatever and I can’t seem to get to a place where that’s possible.
Anger keeps everything in. It always does. I keeps me from expressing anything. It’s my “go-to” emotion. It’s the one that blankets everything else. I don’t know how to move past it.
I go to OA. It’s one of the only places where I can be wide open, totally honest and without fear. Sure I’m scared of what might come out of my mouth but I know it’ll be met with love. It feels safe to be here within these four walls. Not so much in the outside world. I actually wasn’t so much interested in going to a meeting. It’s cold, wet and gross outside. I went so I could express myself. It’s the only place I feel I can besides here or on paper and even then that’s questionable.
The tears come right after saying the obligatory “Hi, I’m Melissa and I’m a compulsive overeater.” I explain that I met Rob today, that he died in April and it’s all really tough. I talk about my gratitude for Jeff, how I feel so lucky to have him in my life, but I don’t know how to let him in. I don’t know how to tell him that I go to 12 Step meetings on top of all of my feelings of grief over Rob. Right now, I just say “I have plans tonight.” Eventually I believe that he’ll pick up on the pattern that I have these “plans” every Wed at the same time and start asking questions.
Of course like Rob, OA is a part of my life. I may not like it. I hate it in fact. I hate that I have to go to a support group because I manage my emotions with a substance but at least I have a place to go. I’m trying to see that with having Jeff in my life regardless of where it may go or what might happen, or how each of us may feel, I am to learn to open up, trust someone who is clearly there for me. I try to remind myself that it’s ok to let him in. With Rob I felt I should let him in, I felt I had to because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t get the opportunity again. With Jeff it’s I have to simply because I can. If he runs away, it’s his choice, but for me, I feel it most important to figure out how to be myself when with someone.
It’s not really Rob I need to talk about but his absence and what that means for me. I don’t even know what that is. I know it means I get really angry but am never able to really pinpoint why. I know I get insanely sad and I know I don’t know how to talk or express any of it. It’s not like my thought process goes “I wish Rob were here.” then that’s followed with me getting angry because he’s not. It’s these anniversaries that I don’t know what to do with. It’s not like I can celebrate with him the day that we met. I feel lost, aimlessly meandering looking for comfort, knowing that this awkwardness will pass but in the meantime it blows…
I try to write in my journal, try to write Jeff a letter but nothing is really coming out. I’m frustrated because I have the time to do whatever, to write and or say whatever and I can’t seem to get to a place where that’s possible.
Anger keeps everything in. It always does. I keeps me from expressing anything. It’s my “go-to” emotion. It’s the one that blankets everything else. I don’t know how to move past it.
I go to OA. It’s one of the only places where I can be wide open, totally honest and without fear. Sure I’m scared of what might come out of my mouth but I know it’ll be met with love. It feels safe to be here within these four walls. Not so much in the outside world. I actually wasn’t so much interested in going to a meeting. It’s cold, wet and gross outside. I went so I could express myself. It’s the only place I feel I can besides here or on paper and even then that’s questionable.
The tears come right after saying the obligatory “Hi, I’m Melissa and I’m a compulsive overeater.” I explain that I met Rob today, that he died in April and it’s all really tough. I talk about my gratitude for Jeff, how I feel so lucky to have him in my life, but I don’t know how to let him in. I don’t know how to tell him that I go to 12 Step meetings on top of all of my feelings of grief over Rob. Right now, I just say “I have plans tonight.” Eventually I believe that he’ll pick up on the pattern that I have these “plans” every Wed at the same time and start asking questions.
Of course like Rob, OA is a part of my life. I may not like it. I hate it in fact. I hate that I have to go to a support group because I manage my emotions with a substance but at least I have a place to go. I’m trying to see that with having Jeff in my life regardless of where it may go or what might happen, or how each of us may feel, I am to learn to open up, trust someone who is clearly there for me. I try to remind myself that it’s ok to let him in. With Rob I felt I should let him in, I felt I had to because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t get the opportunity again. With Jeff it’s I have to simply because I can. If he runs away, it’s his choice, but for me, I feel it most important to figure out how to be myself when with someone.
It’s not really Rob I need to talk about but his absence and what that means for me. I don’t even know what that is. I know it means I get really angry but am never able to really pinpoint why. I know I get insanely sad and I know I don’t know how to talk or express any of it. It’s not like my thought process goes “I wish Rob were here.” then that’s followed with me getting angry because he’s not. It’s these anniversaries that I don’t know what to do with. It’s not like I can celebrate with him the day that we met. I feel lost, aimlessly meandering looking for comfort, knowing that this awkwardness will pass but in the meantime it blows…
Push...
It’s…so….early…Jeff and I are both up and dressed, and stumbling around trying to get ready for work.
“How old are we?” he smiles.
“I know…” I laugh. Neither of us will bounce back as quickly as our 22 year old selves. I’m planning on crashing, shears in hand at 3:30pm. Right now, I feel pretty good.
I take the bus to the red line, then to the purple line all the way to Evanston. I’m nodding off like a narcoleptic on heroin trying desperately to stay awake long enough to get off at the right stop.
Oh work…good day, mildly irritating but everything went well despite my bumbling around in search of caffeine wishing I could sleep with my eyes open. Jeff and I text each other all day. He offers to come to Evanston to give me a shoulder to sleep on for the ride home. I want to curl up with some good food from the Chicago Diner, preferably with him before I pass out on him. I ask and he agrees, meeting me at the salon as I finish up.
We chat on the train all the way to the Diner. I’m still mildly irritated and am sure it’s from the lack of sleep and the long work day. I’m happy listening to him but feel I can’t contribute much.
There is lots of grinning and giggling over dinner. I feel my toes curling in my boots and I try to relax. I feel he can see into my soul and that’s a wee bit scary being I don’t think I’ve even seen what‘s in that place. I realize the curling of my toes is some sort of distraction to keep myself from being 100% present. I’ve done this for as long as I can remember. If it’s not my toes, it’s something else like playing with my hair, readjusting myself constantly in my chair, or reaching out to tickle him. I do it to break the intensity of the situation. I never want to sit still too long out of fear he might actually see me. Then what? He runs? Why would he? I don’t know. I’ve never really let anyone in. It feels too scary but I don’t know why or where I learned that it wasn’t ok to be myself. Last time I attempted it God decided he needed the boy with Him more than I did as I knew him here on earth.
Jeff delivers all sorts of sweetness. He tells me how pretty he thinks I am, he holds my hands and wants to share cake with me instead of asking “Are you going to eat that?” before discussing the substance’s caloric content. I want this delightful lovin‘. I do. I want to soak up all his kindness and sink into it but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to be still and allow myself to walk through life with a healthy available person who wants to spend time getting to know me.
What I do know is how to push away. A teeny little sliver of me is wanting just that. I can see it, feel it and I’m trying to kill it before it takes over and ruins any opportunity at something wonderful. If I don’t change now, if I don’t learn to open up, to accept the love another human being is willing to give I’ll never have a solid relationship. It’s so hard though to give all of myself when I can’t anticipate the outcome. I can’t see into the future which makes this unknown daunting. I look at work and how I knew assisting would be temporary. The goal was to learn through assisting and class then become a stylist again. I would have to complete a series of tasks to get there and I did. With a relationship, I only see a beginning. The unknown is what drives me insane.
What kind of sense does that even make though? Why am I not ok with sharing my life, my thoughts, and emotions? What and or who am I saving them for?
After dinner we head to my place. I listen to him tell me about his most recent ex girlfriend. This reminds me of Rob talking about his ex, Ginger. I don’t mind it. I’m surprised that I don’t mind it. I almost need it. I want to know every inch of him, his life, his thoughts, his wants, likes and dislikes.
I enjoy the tone of his voice, the feeling of his skin beneath my fingers and the blanket of comfort I feel in his presence. I feel like a delicate slice of cake that he’s carefully turning over and examining before consuming it with the utmost care. This I allow myself to open up to and feel to it’s entirety simply because I’ve craved it in a way I can’t explain.
Our chatting is sprinkled with kisses until we start to lose focus and fall asleep…
“How old are we?” he smiles.
“I know…” I laugh. Neither of us will bounce back as quickly as our 22 year old selves. I’m planning on crashing, shears in hand at 3:30pm. Right now, I feel pretty good.
I take the bus to the red line, then to the purple line all the way to Evanston. I’m nodding off like a narcoleptic on heroin trying desperately to stay awake long enough to get off at the right stop.
Oh work…good day, mildly irritating but everything went well despite my bumbling around in search of caffeine wishing I could sleep with my eyes open. Jeff and I text each other all day. He offers to come to Evanston to give me a shoulder to sleep on for the ride home. I want to curl up with some good food from the Chicago Diner, preferably with him before I pass out on him. I ask and he agrees, meeting me at the salon as I finish up.
We chat on the train all the way to the Diner. I’m still mildly irritated and am sure it’s from the lack of sleep and the long work day. I’m happy listening to him but feel I can’t contribute much.
There is lots of grinning and giggling over dinner. I feel my toes curling in my boots and I try to relax. I feel he can see into my soul and that’s a wee bit scary being I don’t think I’ve even seen what‘s in that place. I realize the curling of my toes is some sort of distraction to keep myself from being 100% present. I’ve done this for as long as I can remember. If it’s not my toes, it’s something else like playing with my hair, readjusting myself constantly in my chair, or reaching out to tickle him. I do it to break the intensity of the situation. I never want to sit still too long out of fear he might actually see me. Then what? He runs? Why would he? I don’t know. I’ve never really let anyone in. It feels too scary but I don’t know why or where I learned that it wasn’t ok to be myself. Last time I attempted it God decided he needed the boy with Him more than I did as I knew him here on earth.
Jeff delivers all sorts of sweetness. He tells me how pretty he thinks I am, he holds my hands and wants to share cake with me instead of asking “Are you going to eat that?” before discussing the substance’s caloric content. I want this delightful lovin‘. I do. I want to soak up all his kindness and sink into it but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to be still and allow myself to walk through life with a healthy available person who wants to spend time getting to know me.
What I do know is how to push away. A teeny little sliver of me is wanting just that. I can see it, feel it and I’m trying to kill it before it takes over and ruins any opportunity at something wonderful. If I don’t change now, if I don’t learn to open up, to accept the love another human being is willing to give I’ll never have a solid relationship. It’s so hard though to give all of myself when I can’t anticipate the outcome. I can’t see into the future which makes this unknown daunting. I look at work and how I knew assisting would be temporary. The goal was to learn through assisting and class then become a stylist again. I would have to complete a series of tasks to get there and I did. With a relationship, I only see a beginning. The unknown is what drives me insane.
What kind of sense does that even make though? Why am I not ok with sharing my life, my thoughts, and emotions? What and or who am I saving them for?
After dinner we head to my place. I listen to him tell me about his most recent ex girlfriend. This reminds me of Rob talking about his ex, Ginger. I don’t mind it. I’m surprised that I don’t mind it. I almost need it. I want to know every inch of him, his life, his thoughts, his wants, likes and dislikes.
I enjoy the tone of his voice, the feeling of his skin beneath my fingers and the blanket of comfort I feel in his presence. I feel like a delicate slice of cake that he’s carefully turning over and examining before consuming it with the utmost care. This I allow myself to open up to and feel to it’s entirety simply because I’ve craved it in a way I can’t explain.
Our chatting is sprinkled with kisses until we start to lose focus and fall asleep…
Salon Meeting Part 2...
“Hey Melissa? C’mere for a sec.” Amy, my assistant manager says to me after I set up my station. It’s early on Saturday morning and I’m already contemplating my second Americano. I walk over to her and she pulls me aside next to the washer and dryer near our break room.
“So I heard a rumor that you want to go to Wicker Park’s meeting next week.”
“Reeaally.” I reply remembering Shana and I weren’t the only two in the break room yesterday morning. “What did you hear?”
“Just that the tenth is when you met Rob and you’d like to have the day to yourself. It’s no problem. Just make sure you don’t miss Wicker Park’s because it’s a benefits meeting.”
Tears are waiting for permission to be released but I hold on tightly to them. “Thank you. I have a hard time with it and am not ok with being upset.” I confess.
“It’s ok. It’s all ok. Sometimes you don’t know how you’re going to feel. We’re here for you though. You can talk to us ok? Just let us know what you need.”
I wish it were that easy. I wish I could say to anyone “Hey, I need to talk, do you have a minute?” but I don’t let myself utter those words. I do however explain April 20th and ask to work on Thursday instead of that day.
“Sure, I’ll mark it off right now.”
I thank her again and walk out to get my first client.
I enjoy my day, my clients, their hair, their conversation but I’m exhausted when I’m done. I take the train home and instead of catching the bus, I decide to walk. Jeff and I are texting, both of us tired, neither of us wanting to be at either of our places. His roommates are having a party and things are tense between me and one of mine. Jeff and I decide to meet in Logan Square at New Wave coffee. I’ve been wanting to see this place for a while now.
It’s precious! We both get tea and sit next to each other at a small round table. We’re both very touchy-feely, grinning, all googly-eyed, and I’ve suddenly forgotten that I was ever tired.
“Tell me about your day.” he says rubbing the tops of my knees.
“Well, um, my clients were great. Uh, I’m just not feeling so good right now…” I can’t look him in the eye.
“You want to talk about it?”
I nod. “It’s hard. Um…” I trail off. The music is blaring and I don’t want to have to raise my voice. “I think I’m going to save it for when I don’t have to yell it to you.”
“Ok.” he nods and excuses himself to the bathroom. I go when we returns and lock myself into the tiny space and look around. Bright colored words and drawings fill the walls. Near the mirror I see the words “I love you” and “you’re beautiful” scrawled in pink ink. I smile to myself.
Jeff and I talk, laugh and tell stories until deciding to leave. We contemplate our apartments and decide to go to mine.
“My room’s a mess.” I giggle.
He says he doesn’t mind, but he hasn’t seen it yet. Hehe. The train doesn’t take us long and yes, as expected he’s surprised to see the aftermath of what looks like a tornado that tore through my little living space.
“No judging!” I exclaim as we plop onto my bed.
It would be in our best interest to sleep but what fun is that when there’s still so much to share and learn about this shiny new person in front of me.
We’re facing each other, laying on our sides when his fingertips begin to trail along the tops of my hands. I do my absolute best not to recoil and hide them out of fear he’ll think they’re gross. My dermatitis has been getting the better of me lately making my skin look a little mangled.
“I like your hands.” he tells me.
I chew on the inside of my face. “Say it.” I tell myself. “Come on…say thank you.”
“Thank you.” I reply and wait for the other shoe to drop, preparing for him to mention my skin. He doesn’t, so I do, explaining that I get nervous about people seeing them. “Sometimes I hide them and sometimes I don’t care. I try not to care more often than not, but it’s hard.”
“I still like them.” he says.
I smile and stare at them trying to simply be grateful that I have ten fingers that function despite the skin wanting to fall off.
He tells me that he finds it crazy that he’s here, that we’re hanging out and that it’s been so easy and that he’s been really open about the whole thing. I feel the same way. It’s scary, wonderful, exhilarating and I find myself wondering how we even got here. It feels like five minutes ago that I saw him behind an espresso machine, wanting to feel his hair between my fingers, his collarbone beneath my fingertips, his voice in my ear, his smile lighting me up and here he is, inches from my face.
While laying on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, Jeff on his back next to me, I begin my story about Rob starting with wanting to move to Chicago. I ramble on and on without making eye contact, talking at my headboard, at a pillow, but rarely at him. I almost cry but hold it. I explain all my interviewing, flying back and forth, falling in love with Rob, feeling like I was going to lose him, then…actually losing him and everything that came after.
I stop talking abruptly when I feel there’s nothing more to say. It’s weird how this happens. I’ll talk and talk until there are no words left to form but a weird silence that all the noise in the world could never fill. I can’t identify how I feel. I’m irritated for sure. I’m mad at myself for giving up all that information. What do I expect him to do with all that? What’s the point?
I can see that there isn’t a right or wrong when it comes to feelings, and sharing but I sometimes wish there were. I wish there was an instruction book for grief, a template to follow but I’ve got nothing. It’s all day to day and I think that’s the hardest part. I’m alone in my own journey through it even though there are people around me, I still have to find my own way and I lose my mind wanting someone to just tell me. Why can’t you just tell me where to go and what to do and how to say it and feel it?
Jeff hugs me hard. “I’m sorry. That’s really heavy.”
It is and I try to just hear what he said instead of taking it and running away with it on the crazy train. The crazy train will take me to a destination where everything is silenced and never shared out of fear that I’m somehow broken and not worth messing with. Somewhere though underneath all the crap I’ve piled on myself I know this to be untrue. So I stay put, not running but lacing up my shoes “just incase” for now. I let him hug me and I hear his words and roll them over I my head.
The subject begins to change in between kisses and quiet moments of staring at each other. I try to let him look me, my face and body and be ok with it. I’m working hard on being ok with letting him see me, with being still and not disrupting any of this stillness with my giggling, tickling or kissing. He asks me what I’m thinking and or feeling from time to time. I don’t have a lot of words.
Time is moving faster than I care to see and before we know it, it’s four the morning! I have to be awake in an hour then operate sharp objects for ten hours. Gonna be a looong day…
“So I heard a rumor that you want to go to Wicker Park’s meeting next week.”
“Reeaally.” I reply remembering Shana and I weren’t the only two in the break room yesterday morning. “What did you hear?”
“Just that the tenth is when you met Rob and you’d like to have the day to yourself. It’s no problem. Just make sure you don’t miss Wicker Park’s because it’s a benefits meeting.”
Tears are waiting for permission to be released but I hold on tightly to them. “Thank you. I have a hard time with it and am not ok with being upset.” I confess.
“It’s ok. It’s all ok. Sometimes you don’t know how you’re going to feel. We’re here for you though. You can talk to us ok? Just let us know what you need.”
I wish it were that easy. I wish I could say to anyone “Hey, I need to talk, do you have a minute?” but I don’t let myself utter those words. I do however explain April 20th and ask to work on Thursday instead of that day.
“Sure, I’ll mark it off right now.”
I thank her again and walk out to get my first client.
I enjoy my day, my clients, their hair, their conversation but I’m exhausted when I’m done. I take the train home and instead of catching the bus, I decide to walk. Jeff and I are texting, both of us tired, neither of us wanting to be at either of our places. His roommates are having a party and things are tense between me and one of mine. Jeff and I decide to meet in Logan Square at New Wave coffee. I’ve been wanting to see this place for a while now.
It’s precious! We both get tea and sit next to each other at a small round table. We’re both very touchy-feely, grinning, all googly-eyed, and I’ve suddenly forgotten that I was ever tired.
“Tell me about your day.” he says rubbing the tops of my knees.
“Well, um, my clients were great. Uh, I’m just not feeling so good right now…” I can’t look him in the eye.
“You want to talk about it?”
I nod. “It’s hard. Um…” I trail off. The music is blaring and I don’t want to have to raise my voice. “I think I’m going to save it for when I don’t have to yell it to you.”
“Ok.” he nods and excuses himself to the bathroom. I go when we returns and lock myself into the tiny space and look around. Bright colored words and drawings fill the walls. Near the mirror I see the words “I love you” and “you’re beautiful” scrawled in pink ink. I smile to myself.
Jeff and I talk, laugh and tell stories until deciding to leave. We contemplate our apartments and decide to go to mine.
“My room’s a mess.” I giggle.
He says he doesn’t mind, but he hasn’t seen it yet. Hehe. The train doesn’t take us long and yes, as expected he’s surprised to see the aftermath of what looks like a tornado that tore through my little living space.
“No judging!” I exclaim as we plop onto my bed.
It would be in our best interest to sleep but what fun is that when there’s still so much to share and learn about this shiny new person in front of me.
We’re facing each other, laying on our sides when his fingertips begin to trail along the tops of my hands. I do my absolute best not to recoil and hide them out of fear he’ll think they’re gross. My dermatitis has been getting the better of me lately making my skin look a little mangled.
“I like your hands.” he tells me.
I chew on the inside of my face. “Say it.” I tell myself. “Come on…say thank you.”
“Thank you.” I reply and wait for the other shoe to drop, preparing for him to mention my skin. He doesn’t, so I do, explaining that I get nervous about people seeing them. “Sometimes I hide them and sometimes I don’t care. I try not to care more often than not, but it’s hard.”
“I still like them.” he says.
I smile and stare at them trying to simply be grateful that I have ten fingers that function despite the skin wanting to fall off.
He tells me that he finds it crazy that he’s here, that we’re hanging out and that it’s been so easy and that he’s been really open about the whole thing. I feel the same way. It’s scary, wonderful, exhilarating and I find myself wondering how we even got here. It feels like five minutes ago that I saw him behind an espresso machine, wanting to feel his hair between my fingers, his collarbone beneath my fingertips, his voice in my ear, his smile lighting me up and here he is, inches from my face.
While laying on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, Jeff on his back next to me, I begin my story about Rob starting with wanting to move to Chicago. I ramble on and on without making eye contact, talking at my headboard, at a pillow, but rarely at him. I almost cry but hold it. I explain all my interviewing, flying back and forth, falling in love with Rob, feeling like I was going to lose him, then…actually losing him and everything that came after.
I stop talking abruptly when I feel there’s nothing more to say. It’s weird how this happens. I’ll talk and talk until there are no words left to form but a weird silence that all the noise in the world could never fill. I can’t identify how I feel. I’m irritated for sure. I’m mad at myself for giving up all that information. What do I expect him to do with all that? What’s the point?
I can see that there isn’t a right or wrong when it comes to feelings, and sharing but I sometimes wish there were. I wish there was an instruction book for grief, a template to follow but I’ve got nothing. It’s all day to day and I think that’s the hardest part. I’m alone in my own journey through it even though there are people around me, I still have to find my own way and I lose my mind wanting someone to just tell me. Why can’t you just tell me where to go and what to do and how to say it and feel it?
Jeff hugs me hard. “I’m sorry. That’s really heavy.”
It is and I try to just hear what he said instead of taking it and running away with it on the crazy train. The crazy train will take me to a destination where everything is silenced and never shared out of fear that I’m somehow broken and not worth messing with. Somewhere though underneath all the crap I’ve piled on myself I know this to be untrue. So I stay put, not running but lacing up my shoes “just incase” for now. I let him hug me and I hear his words and roll them over I my head.
The subject begins to change in between kisses and quiet moments of staring at each other. I try to let him look me, my face and body and be ok with it. I’m working hard on being ok with letting him see me, with being still and not disrupting any of this stillness with my giggling, tickling or kissing. He asks me what I’m thinking and or feeling from time to time. I don’t have a lot of words.
Time is moving faster than I care to see and before we know it, it’s four the morning! I have to be awake in an hour then operate sharp objects for ten hours. Gonna be a looong day…
Monday, April 12, 2010
Salon Meeting...
I’m not feeling too hot today. Lots of emotion is bubbling under my surface and I want nothing to do with it. I enjoyed my time writing at the Unicorn café in Evanston before work but when I walked through the door I was immediately annoyed.
I took off my coat, changed my shoes and set up my station. My first one cancelled so I decided to work on my IL/GA State Board issue. I’m trying to get an Illinois license being the state reciprocates with Georgia instead of taking the exam again but it’s looking like I’m going to have to take the exam and I’m not a happy camper.
A new piece of paper on our break room wall catches my eye. There is a salon meeting on Feb 10th. Rage boils under my skin. Calm down. I tell myself. It’s only a couple of hours…
I want to be alone that day. I’m not accepting of it. I don’t want to see that it’s been two years since I met Rob, that I’ve lived two years without him, and that I am being reminded yet again that he’s not here. I am jealous still of my parents celebrating their anniversary. I hate having these feelings. I hate admitting it. I hate that my emotions are all over the place and are out of my control. I glare at the paper, trying to find a way out, wanting to go to Wicker Park’s meeting on the 11th. Hmm.
“Hey Melissa. How you feeling?” Shana, an assistant, asks me as she walks into the break room and sits across from me. I feel myself wanting to be honest so instead of the obligatory answer that consists of “Good!” before walking away I tell her I’m a bit stressed.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, there this state board crap…” I begin, telling her a little about that before launching into Rob and this meeting action. “ I don’t want to do it! I want to be alone!“ I exclaim. “I feel like I need to tell Jeff about all of this. Soon.” I’m trying not to cry, embarrassed at my outburst. “I don’t know how though. I don’t know how to bring it up.” I was seriously hoping to wait on unleashing all of this on him but it just so happens we met at about this time and I feel I’m going to need to explain my erratic moods and emotions.
“Just go to Wicker Park’s or Halsted’s meeting. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Shana tells me. “And with Jeff, just tell him what’s going on. Sometimes you’ve gotta give into the word vomit and let it all out.”
“When will it not be in the forefront of my mind? I don’t even know if I want that really. I have so much trouble just feeling anything. I judge myself so harshly.” I explain.
“It doesn’t get better. I just get’s a point where it sit in your heart a little more. The sadness is always there.” She says quietly then tells me her dad died on his birthday 12 years ago. It feels so good to talk to someone who “gets” it, who isn’t going to tell me to get over it, or shy away from me or my words. “This is part of who you are now.” she reminds me. “It’s ok to share it.
I never looked at it that way before. I’m ok with Rob while he was alive being a part of my life but his death being a current part of it? I don’t do too well with that. I want to carve that part out and forget that it ever happened.
“It takes a ton of time.” Shana says and I nod believing her but not wanting to…
Back to work…
I enjoy my clients. I’m trying to be as present as possible. Jeff and I text each other through out the day. He’s my breath of fresh air. When I finish my last client I get on the train home feeling beaten down but have found enough energy to write for a while. Before turning off the computer a couple of hours later, and climbing into bed, I remember that Jeff told me yesterday that he like hearing me talk. No one has ever said that before. I feel self conscious when talking about myself and about the fact that I almost need to. It’s a release for me, but I’m scared of it though. It’s so much easier to hold it all in. I quickly send him an email before heading to bed, thanking him for his comment.
Five am is going to come faster than I’d like…
I took off my coat, changed my shoes and set up my station. My first one cancelled so I decided to work on my IL/GA State Board issue. I’m trying to get an Illinois license being the state reciprocates with Georgia instead of taking the exam again but it’s looking like I’m going to have to take the exam and I’m not a happy camper.
A new piece of paper on our break room wall catches my eye. There is a salon meeting on Feb 10th. Rage boils under my skin. Calm down. I tell myself. It’s only a couple of hours…
I want to be alone that day. I’m not accepting of it. I don’t want to see that it’s been two years since I met Rob, that I’ve lived two years without him, and that I am being reminded yet again that he’s not here. I am jealous still of my parents celebrating their anniversary. I hate having these feelings. I hate admitting it. I hate that my emotions are all over the place and are out of my control. I glare at the paper, trying to find a way out, wanting to go to Wicker Park’s meeting on the 11th. Hmm.
“Hey Melissa. How you feeling?” Shana, an assistant, asks me as she walks into the break room and sits across from me. I feel myself wanting to be honest so instead of the obligatory answer that consists of “Good!” before walking away I tell her I’m a bit stressed.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, there this state board crap…” I begin, telling her a little about that before launching into Rob and this meeting action. “ I don’t want to do it! I want to be alone!“ I exclaim. “I feel like I need to tell Jeff about all of this. Soon.” I’m trying not to cry, embarrassed at my outburst. “I don’t know how though. I don’t know how to bring it up.” I was seriously hoping to wait on unleashing all of this on him but it just so happens we met at about this time and I feel I’m going to need to explain my erratic moods and emotions.
“Just go to Wicker Park’s or Halsted’s meeting. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Shana tells me. “And with Jeff, just tell him what’s going on. Sometimes you’ve gotta give into the word vomit and let it all out.”
“When will it not be in the forefront of my mind? I don’t even know if I want that really. I have so much trouble just feeling anything. I judge myself so harshly.” I explain.
“It doesn’t get better. I just get’s a point where it sit in your heart a little more. The sadness is always there.” She says quietly then tells me her dad died on his birthday 12 years ago. It feels so good to talk to someone who “gets” it, who isn’t going to tell me to get over it, or shy away from me or my words. “This is part of who you are now.” she reminds me. “It’s ok to share it.
I never looked at it that way before. I’m ok with Rob while he was alive being a part of my life but his death being a current part of it? I don’t do too well with that. I want to carve that part out and forget that it ever happened.
“It takes a ton of time.” Shana says and I nod believing her but not wanting to…
Back to work…
I enjoy my clients. I’m trying to be as present as possible. Jeff and I text each other through out the day. He’s my breath of fresh air. When I finish my last client I get on the train home feeling beaten down but have found enough energy to write for a while. Before turning off the computer a couple of hours later, and climbing into bed, I remember that Jeff told me yesterday that he like hearing me talk. No one has ever said that before. I feel self conscious when talking about myself and about the fact that I almost need to. It’s a release for me, but I’m scared of it though. It’s so much easier to hold it all in. I quickly send him an email before heading to bed, thanking him for his comment.
Extra Giddy...
I’m racing up Milwaukee in heeled shiny boots, a dress, and my favorite red purse I bought in Stockholm lifetime ago. Well, that’s quite an exaggeration but it’s what it feels like at this point. I feel I have these chunks of life that are separate from each other because I was and am so different when I compare one chunk of life to another.
After I finished up at the gym this morning, Jeff texted me asking if I’d like to get lunch before he had to head to work. His schedule in a way resembles my former one as an assistant. It’s always changing from week to week. I haven’t had the chance yet to get used to having a set one again, but am enjoying the idea of it.
We agree on the Bongo Room. He’s never been and I have plenty of delicious and wonderful memories of the place from my first visit on my 26th birthday with Kat, to going every time I had an interview, to starting the first day of my life here in Chicago with breakfast from there, to eating alone, with friends, and now with Jeff.
I see him sitting at a table in corner and feel my face light up as his does the same.
“Hi!” I exclaim as he stands to hug me.
“How are you?”
“Good! How are you?” I sit and lean forward wanting to fall into him.
He nods. “Good.”
We stare at each other, smiling. I feel my toes curl in my boots, unable to hold his gaze for too long before shifting my eyes to the menu.
“You look nice.” he tells me. “I like your boots.”
“Thank you. So do you. I like your shirt.”
Dating while having an eating disorder is quite the dilemma. I use the fact that I’m on a date as an excuse to eat whatever I want and deal with the consequences later. This is how the trouble starts and snowballs into insanity. I don’t know how to balance it. I know that for today, to maintain my hard earned sanity I need to order a salad but find myself saying “red velvet pancakes” to the girl taking our order. When they arrive though, I don’t focus on them but on Jeff and his words, strung together into sentences describing his life, his work and find myself sharing details of my own life and work with such ease that it’s taking me aback a little bit. It’s like having my big toe sticking out of the wall I’ve been hiding behind testing the ground to see if it’s solid and safe. The toe is out there wiggling around until Jeff’s hand reaches for it, holds it’s and gently pulls it forward until my foot is exposed. Just the foot though.
After lunch we decide to get tea at a little place on Damen that a friend of his, James, just opened. We sit on a couch that matches my purple dress and continue our conversations about our younger selves, music, past job experiences etc… until he’s got to get to work. I’m not wanting the afternoon to end. We walk to the train and again find ourselves at the corner of Damen, Milwaukee and North Ave saying goodbye and agreeing to hang out tomorrow.
“I mean, if that’s ok.” he says. “I don’t want to eat up all of your time.”
Eat away my dear…
“Of course it’s ok!” I giggle. He hugs me hard and we go our separate ways.
I’ve officially had too much caffeine and am shaking by the time I get home. I quickly inhale lunch, barely tasting the sandwich I threw together and change into my running clothes. I quickly get that out of the way and shower trying to make it on time for OA. I don’t though and resign to staying home and working on my novel. I’m having trouble with the beginning. I’ve written some “middle” stuff but I’m not settled on how to start it. This is my third attempt and I’m trying it from starting on the morning of April 20th, the day that Rob died.
I’m alone at my kitchen table trying to get to a place mentally that will allow me to write about all of this. I have my journal out from that day and am trying to read it without getting too overwhelmed. I write but mostly sit there and stare out the window as if the words are going to write themselves. My roommate comes home and gives me shit for coming home late last night, assuming I was with Jeff.
“I work late on Tuesday.” I blandly say.
“No you don’t. You never work that late.” he nearly snaps.
“I do, and I commute!” I’m starting to snap. I don’t owe anyone an explanation for my whereabouts yet I feel like I have to defend myself.
He believes I’m already spending too much time with Jeff. I believe that’s no one’s business but mine. He continues to express his feelings on the matter before I snap yet again “Maybe I’m a fun date!” I’m surprised at this exclamation. I’m surprised I said it but even more surprised that I actually believe it. For the first time in my life I feel I’m worth dating, and maybe, just maybe I am deserving of someone else’s love.
I didn’t plan on spending so much time with Jeff, and am judgmental of my own process so I feel extra sensitive to my roommate’s observations. Still though, I feel ok with it and plan to keep going whether or not I spend every day with Jeff or simply see him once a week. I like him. Why can’t I just be ok with that?
Back to novel writing. I put my iPOD in when the television is turned on. I try to concentrate. I just want to be alone. My head is getting caught up in future stuff. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to write about a million different other things. If I could just focus on one sentence at a time, that would be great. Easier said than done.
I stop and decide to go back and read some messages that were sent after Rob died from people expressing their condolences through MySpace. I haven’t looked at these in a while. It’s excruciating, wonderful, comforting, and unbelievable. I feel I’m reading about someone else’s life, like I’m not in my body right now. I’m crying reading a message from a girl I worked with at Salonred explaining that Rob will “visit” me in various ways, I just have to remember to be open to seeing it. Being many steps ahead from that time in my life, I feel that I can look back now and “see” all the ways he reminds me that he’s still around me.
I stop reading and ask Rob if I’m supposed to be reading this right now…if everything I’ve seen is him and if I’m on the right path. Minutes later “Addicted” plays on my iPOD and I feel my heart may explode. My insides though feel as if they’re being washed by something calming, something that is involuntarily drying my tears and making me sit up a little straighter.
I need to take a walk. I don’t want to be in the house. I want my head to clear. I quickly fire off an email to mom having no idea what I just wrote when I click “send” and wander to bed.
After I finished up at the gym this morning, Jeff texted me asking if I’d like to get lunch before he had to head to work. His schedule in a way resembles my former one as an assistant. It’s always changing from week to week. I haven’t had the chance yet to get used to having a set one again, but am enjoying the idea of it.
We agree on the Bongo Room. He’s never been and I have plenty of delicious and wonderful memories of the place from my first visit on my 26th birthday with Kat, to going every time I had an interview, to starting the first day of my life here in Chicago with breakfast from there, to eating alone, with friends, and now with Jeff.
I see him sitting at a table in corner and feel my face light up as his does the same.
“Hi!” I exclaim as he stands to hug me.
“How are you?”
“Good! How are you?” I sit and lean forward wanting to fall into him.
He nods. “Good.”
We stare at each other, smiling. I feel my toes curl in my boots, unable to hold his gaze for too long before shifting my eyes to the menu.
“You look nice.” he tells me. “I like your boots.”
“Thank you. So do you. I like your shirt.”
Dating while having an eating disorder is quite the dilemma. I use the fact that I’m on a date as an excuse to eat whatever I want and deal with the consequences later. This is how the trouble starts and snowballs into insanity. I don’t know how to balance it. I know that for today, to maintain my hard earned sanity I need to order a salad but find myself saying “red velvet pancakes” to the girl taking our order. When they arrive though, I don’t focus on them but on Jeff and his words, strung together into sentences describing his life, his work and find myself sharing details of my own life and work with such ease that it’s taking me aback a little bit. It’s like having my big toe sticking out of the wall I’ve been hiding behind testing the ground to see if it’s solid and safe. The toe is out there wiggling around until Jeff’s hand reaches for it, holds it’s and gently pulls it forward until my foot is exposed. Just the foot though.
After lunch we decide to get tea at a little place on Damen that a friend of his, James, just opened. We sit on a couch that matches my purple dress and continue our conversations about our younger selves, music, past job experiences etc… until he’s got to get to work. I’m not wanting the afternoon to end. We walk to the train and again find ourselves at the corner of Damen, Milwaukee and North Ave saying goodbye and agreeing to hang out tomorrow.
“I mean, if that’s ok.” he says. “I don’t want to eat up all of your time.”
Eat away my dear…
“Of course it’s ok!” I giggle. He hugs me hard and we go our separate ways.
I’ve officially had too much caffeine and am shaking by the time I get home. I quickly inhale lunch, barely tasting the sandwich I threw together and change into my running clothes. I quickly get that out of the way and shower trying to make it on time for OA. I don’t though and resign to staying home and working on my novel. I’m having trouble with the beginning. I’ve written some “middle” stuff but I’m not settled on how to start it. This is my third attempt and I’m trying it from starting on the morning of April 20th, the day that Rob died.
I’m alone at my kitchen table trying to get to a place mentally that will allow me to write about all of this. I have my journal out from that day and am trying to read it without getting too overwhelmed. I write but mostly sit there and stare out the window as if the words are going to write themselves. My roommate comes home and gives me shit for coming home late last night, assuming I was with Jeff.
“I work late on Tuesday.” I blandly say.
“No you don’t. You never work that late.” he nearly snaps.
“I do, and I commute!” I’m starting to snap. I don’t owe anyone an explanation for my whereabouts yet I feel like I have to defend myself.
He believes I’m already spending too much time with Jeff. I believe that’s no one’s business but mine. He continues to express his feelings on the matter before I snap yet again “Maybe I’m a fun date!” I’m surprised at this exclamation. I’m surprised I said it but even more surprised that I actually believe it. For the first time in my life I feel I’m worth dating, and maybe, just maybe I am deserving of someone else’s love.
I didn’t plan on spending so much time with Jeff, and am judgmental of my own process so I feel extra sensitive to my roommate’s observations. Still though, I feel ok with it and plan to keep going whether or not I spend every day with Jeff or simply see him once a week. I like him. Why can’t I just be ok with that?
Back to novel writing. I put my iPOD in when the television is turned on. I try to concentrate. I just want to be alone. My head is getting caught up in future stuff. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to write about a million different other things. If I could just focus on one sentence at a time, that would be great. Easier said than done.
I stop and decide to go back and read some messages that were sent after Rob died from people expressing their condolences through MySpace. I haven’t looked at these in a while. It’s excruciating, wonderful, comforting, and unbelievable. I feel I’m reading about someone else’s life, like I’m not in my body right now. I’m crying reading a message from a girl I worked with at Salonred explaining that Rob will “visit” me in various ways, I just have to remember to be open to seeing it. Being many steps ahead from that time in my life, I feel that I can look back now and “see” all the ways he reminds me that he’s still around me.
I stop reading and ask Rob if I’m supposed to be reading this right now…if everything I’ve seen is him and if I’m on the right path. Minutes later “Addicted” plays on my iPOD and I feel my heart may explode. My insides though feel as if they’re being washed by something calming, something that is involuntarily drying my tears and making me sit up a little straighter.
I need to take a walk. I don’t want to be in the house. I want my head to clear. I quickly fire off an email to mom having no idea what I just wrote when I click “send” and wander to bed.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Facebook...
The next morning I turn the computer on to see I have a “friend request” on Facebook from Jeff. I readily accept then let my mind go a little insane over the amount of information I choose to share on Facebook.
For instance, my blog. (Hey ya’ll!) My entire life with all it’s thoughts and experiences are documented and out there for the world to see. I chose to put it out there, to share and for the most part it has been met with love. There are times though where it’s been criticized, or my grieving process has been judged and it sends me into a frenzy. I also have trouble with what to write at times, wanting to let you into my thoughts and life but also feeling scared, or protective over all of it to a point where I won’t share anything.
Then… there’s the dating factor. I question how much to share with the world, because well, anyone who walks into my life can read about all my past stuff and know about it before I’m ready to share it on a more personal level with them. Of course this is a choice I make and continue to make but it’s always in the back of my mind. I feel I hide a lot from people out of fear. I fear once I let you in, let you see all of me, you’ll go away, you won’t want me. I can’t even let my own self in. How can I let someone else in?
A coworker asked why do I blog? Why put everything out there in such a way where I can never take it back.
“Sure I get writing in a journal and not letting anyone see that. I get writing to get your feelings out, but why is there a need to share…with everyone?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I like it. I like knowing there are people out there who care or are at least curious. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I don’t share much with people and this is a way to do so in a controlled environment. I feel I can connect with people and share my experience through something that is easier for me than talking face to face. I really can’t fully explain it. I still keep a journal and I am able to write about stuff I don’t post on my blog but when I write to you out here I can tap into other things I wouldn’t normally have thought about for some reason and I (as frustrating as it can be sometimes) enjoy the process.
“I still don’t understand the need for it. I’m glad it works for you, I just don’t understand.”
We have to agree to disagree because I can’t explain it the way I want.
February is tough. Rob and I met on the tenth which is my parent’s wedding anniversary as you know. I’m already feeling a bit squirrelly over it. Part of me wants to feel whatever it is I need to feel and part of me wants to be completely numb. This constant internal battle simply creates anger. That I can do. On some level it’s like I search for something to channel that anger to release what’s underneath instead of just letting what’s underneath out. I don’t know how to unlock it though. I’m not even sure I’m willing.
I like to think we met in February so that after he died the entire month would be filled with the hearts and love. I am reminded everywhere I go that he is still very much here despite all my feelings.
I find myself yet again dating someone new while feeling all of this. I can barely deal with myself. How do I take on another person? I feel like Rob and I are a package deal when it comes to letting someone else into my life. I don’t know how to share my experience out of fear of the reaction from the person I’m sharing it with. It’s easy to just be quiet, or let my anger take over…
My work day is filled with wonderful clients, and sweet text messages from Jeff. Assisting feels like a distant memory all the sudden as I race from client to client, always in motion and never stopping. I had forgotten what it was like to be a stylist. Only briefly though! I enjoy feeling hair beneath my fingers instead of towels or foil. I love all the conversations and the decision making. I also enjoy that I’m able to answer my client’s questions, am able to freely give my opinion when they ask and feel confident in my ability to do so. This wasn’t so much a reality in Atlanta and something I desperately wanted to attain while here in Chicago. The whole experience has been an absolute dream.
When it’s all said and done, I pack up and head home. I missed the Metra (the fast train…) and settle onto the red line of the CTA until I reach my stop and have to will my legs to move to catch the bus home and fall into bed.
For instance, my blog. (Hey ya’ll!) My entire life with all it’s thoughts and experiences are documented and out there for the world to see. I chose to put it out there, to share and for the most part it has been met with love. There are times though where it’s been criticized, or my grieving process has been judged and it sends me into a frenzy. I also have trouble with what to write at times, wanting to let you into my thoughts and life but also feeling scared, or protective over all of it to a point where I won’t share anything.
Then… there’s the dating factor. I question how much to share with the world, because well, anyone who walks into my life can read about all my past stuff and know about it before I’m ready to share it on a more personal level with them. Of course this is a choice I make and continue to make but it’s always in the back of my mind. I feel I hide a lot from people out of fear. I fear once I let you in, let you see all of me, you’ll go away, you won’t want me. I can’t even let my own self in. How can I let someone else in?
A coworker asked why do I blog? Why put everything out there in such a way where I can never take it back.
“Sure I get writing in a journal and not letting anyone see that. I get writing to get your feelings out, but why is there a need to share…with everyone?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I like it. I like knowing there are people out there who care or are at least curious. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I don’t share much with people and this is a way to do so in a controlled environment. I feel I can connect with people and share my experience through something that is easier for me than talking face to face. I really can’t fully explain it. I still keep a journal and I am able to write about stuff I don’t post on my blog but when I write to you out here I can tap into other things I wouldn’t normally have thought about for some reason and I (as frustrating as it can be sometimes) enjoy the process.
“I still don’t understand the need for it. I’m glad it works for you, I just don’t understand.”
We have to agree to disagree because I can’t explain it the way I want.
February is tough. Rob and I met on the tenth which is my parent’s wedding anniversary as you know. I’m already feeling a bit squirrelly over it. Part of me wants to feel whatever it is I need to feel and part of me wants to be completely numb. This constant internal battle simply creates anger. That I can do. On some level it’s like I search for something to channel that anger to release what’s underneath instead of just letting what’s underneath out. I don’t know how to unlock it though. I’m not even sure I’m willing.
I like to think we met in February so that after he died the entire month would be filled with the hearts and love. I am reminded everywhere I go that he is still very much here despite all my feelings.
I find myself yet again dating someone new while feeling all of this. I can barely deal with myself. How do I take on another person? I feel like Rob and I are a package deal when it comes to letting someone else into my life. I don’t know how to share my experience out of fear of the reaction from the person I’m sharing it with. It’s easy to just be quiet, or let my anger take over…
My work day is filled with wonderful clients, and sweet text messages from Jeff. Assisting feels like a distant memory all the sudden as I race from client to client, always in motion and never stopping. I had forgotten what it was like to be a stylist. Only briefly though! I enjoy feeling hair beneath my fingers instead of towels or foil. I love all the conversations and the decision making. I also enjoy that I’m able to answer my client’s questions, am able to freely give my opinion when they ask and feel confident in my ability to do so. This wasn’t so much a reality in Atlanta and something I desperately wanted to attain while here in Chicago. The whole experience has been an absolute dream.
When it’s all said and done, I pack up and head home. I missed the Metra (the fast train…) and settle onto the red line of the CTA until I reach my stop and have to will my legs to move to catch the bus home and fall into bed.
Giddy...
Happy Monday! It feels good to say that once again. This is my first Monday free from class. For now, there are no more model searches, no more scrambling to find more when folks cancel, and no more stressing over testing out of haircuts.
I’ve spent the past few days running, writing, and seeing a few friends. My first full week of work as a stylist starts tomorrow. I seriously can’t believe it’s here already. I’m elated in so many different ways. I’ve been so content this past week and am so looking forward to starting the next part of my career.
This morning I’m up early and downtown at Intelligentsia coffee before the sun is up. I’ve adopted a new routine of coming here when they open at 6am then going to the gym next door. I’ve also recently developed a crush on a boy working behind the counter which has made my time spent here even more entertaining. I’ve only seen him a handful of times since coming but each time have been met with smiles and a little jump in my chest that I haven’t felt in a while.
When I push through the revolving door I see him standing with a girl at the register and feel my skin warm. I’ve wanted to talk to him but haven’t thought of anything clever to say. I notice that he’s gotten a haircut as I approach the counter and giggle to myself that that’s what I’m going to use to chat with him.
“Hi!” I smile at both of them and order a large Americano. “I like your haircut.” I tell the object of my affection while the girl rings me up.
“Thank you.” he smiles.
“Where’d you get it done?”
“A barber shop near Fullerton. It was my first experience in one.” He tells me about his time spent there explaining that he usually gets his haircut every five months or so. The first time I saw him his straight black hair was covering his ears. It’s now quite short and I wonder why he lets it go so long. I’m intrigued by his thoughts on his experience. I like men’s hairdressing and am always curious as to what it is they think and want in their service.
He’s quite talkative and I like it. I tell him I do hair and am always investigating people. Our conversation moves to where we’re from, how we got here and where we live now.
“Atlanta.” I smile. “You?”
“Alaska.”
(What?!)
“I came here for vacation and decided to move…”
“I moved here with my girlfriend at the time…”
“Wicker Park…”
“Logan Square…”
He gets busy so I sit and write with my Americano, occasionally looking up to meet his eyes, smiling and watching him look away first, making me smile more. I seriously have such a fourth grade crush on this guy. He seems to have a very gentle spirit about him and I want to know more.
I order another Americano an hour or so later. He makes it and asks what I’m writing.
“Right now? That’s my journal. I’m using it as a distraction from the novel project I have going on.” I blurt.
“A novel? What’s it about? Or do you not want to say or talk about it?”
Hair, grief, love, and yes I need to talk about it to remain accountable…is what I want to say but reign all that in. Something tells me though that I can share with him whatever I want. I just don’t want to do it yet.
“Oh no, I need to talk about it!” I laugh and tell him it’s about my experience doing hair in Atlanta. The subject of Rob is still lingering in my mind but I refuse to let it out.
“I’ve never met anyone who has written a novel.” Delicious boy tells me.
“Neither have I.” I laugh. “It’s quite the task.”
He smiles and holds out his hand over the espresso machine. “I’m Jeff.”
“Melissa.” I grin and place my hand in his feeling his fingers wrap around it and firmly deliver in my opinion, a perfect handshake.
“Good to meet you.”
“You as well.” I’m feeling all sorts of things spark in my brain.
He gets busy again and I get back to writing. Even though my heart may explode from all my caffeinated nervousness I’m slow with my writing and enjoying the process. After a while though I can’t sit still any longer. I scan the counter and don’t see Jeff behind it. I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I wait another minute or so and start thinking about leaving one of my cards with the girl at the register for him. As the thought leaves my mind though, he’s there. Standing next to me, out of no where and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Hey, I’m about to go on break and was wondering if you’d like to join me?”
EEEEEKKKKKK!!!!
“I would!” I shut my journal and put my pen down faster than lightening.
“Ok. I have only thirty minutes and need to get my things together. Are you vegetarian or vegan?”
“I move in that direction.” I nod.
“Ok, I was thinking about this little diner around the corner…”
“Perfect.” I smile.
He disappears and I pack my things up. Minutes later we’re outside inhaling the freezing February air.
“Have you eaten at many places downtown?” he asks.
“I haven’t. I don’t know a whole lot about this area.”
“I just know this block. There are a lot of great places tucked away though.”
The diner is in a huge building on the ground floor. The ceiling in the building reminds me of a fancy cake with all it‘s pink and green intricacies. We sit across from each other, both of us grinning. After ordering we bounce questions back and forth off of each other. I’m completely, totally, and utterly enjoying his calm, laid back nature. I feel I could possibly open up to him, maybe let him in…but later. A shift in my behavior has taken place since Charlie when it comes to dating. I’m starting to pay attention more to what I want instead of anticipating what they want and just going along with it. I still have a long road ahead of me concerning this project but am happy to be questioning my actions instead of blindly going forward.
Thirty minutes went by like thirty seconds. He’s off work at one and I’m…well I’m off all day and want to see more of him.
“May I ask for your number?” he asks.
“Of course.” I smile and tell it to him as he programs it into his phone.
“You want mine?” he asks.
“Sure. You can text it or call.”
“I’ll text it. Thank you for coming.” he smiles.
“Thank you for asking.” I return his smile and confess that I was going to leave my card with one of his co-workers. I tell him I have to run some errands but am free later if he wants to hang out.
“A nap is definitely in store for me, but after that, I’ll give you a call.”
“Deal.”
He thanks me again for coming along and goes back to work as I bounce to the gym.
After the gym, I head to the grocery store, home, then go for a run. It’s tough. I’m tired and feel my feet wanting to drag. The ground is clear and free of snow and ice so I feel guilty for not taking advantage of going.
Back at home, I quickly shower and spend some time writing. At a little after five Jeff texts me asking if I still want to hang out. I am stupid giddy and loving every second of it. I’m giggling as I text him back saying yes I do.
He calls a few minutes later. We decide on Café de Luca on Damen at 6:30. I really wanted to finish my writing and look presentable being he’s only seen me in my gym clothes.
At six, I’m hauling ass up there. I decided to walk instead of taking the bus. I suddenly feel a rush of negative feelings wash over me. I feel guilty that I’m keeping him out late, knowing he has to open again in the morning. I also feel badly for wanting to finish my writing before meeting up and voicing that. I quickly push it all away remembering that if this wasn’t what he was able to do he would tell me. As I turn on to Damen I see a guy pretty far ahead of me and by watching him I’m pretty sure it’s Jeff. Funny how someone’s movements can identify them.
It is Jeff and he’s turned around, smiling at me as I approach him.
“Hi!” I squeal walking into his open arms, wrapping mine around him.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Good. You?”
He nods. “Good. Looks like they’re closed.” he glances in the direction of the café.
“Well damn. Hmm.” I think for a moment and suggest a few other places nearby. We decide on the Bluebird, a fabulous bar down the street from where we’re standing.
“You look nice.” he tells me as we start walking.
“So do you.” I don’t get to drink him in until we’re seated across from each other at a small wooden table, beer in our hands, still smiling at each other. His warm hazel eyes sparkle, reflecting interest, and attraction. I quite like it, finding myself giving it back. He’s wearing a black sweater that is contrasting his smooth fair skin but enhancing his short, black, straight hair and facial hair. His smile lights me up and I find myself wanting to run my fingers over his as he sets his beer down after taking a sip.
“I admire your writing.” he tells me. “Most people write a few lines and stare off into space for a while but you’re really consistent with it.”
“Thank you!” I laugh.
“I was trying to sneak a peek at it. You really pack a lot in there.”
I nod. That I do and even then it’s not everything which makes me crazy.
Our conversation lasts through beer, dinner and more beer. We both have to be up early tomorrow and both said before dinner that we couldn’t stay out late. We’ve been here for five hours. So much for an early bedtime.
“I’m having a really good time with you.” he smiles.
“Me too.” I like hearing this. I don’t think to say it nearly enough when enjoying someone’s company.
“I’ve got to get going though.” he tells me.
“I know, me too.”
We both stand, putting all our winter gear on and minutes later we’re back out in the freezing air.
As we approach the huge Damen, Milwaukee, North Ave intersection he turns and gives me huge hug.
“You give a good hug!” he smiles.
“So do you!”
We both agree we had a great time and he asks if he can call me again.
“Of course!”
After saying goodnight, he turns to get on the train and I walk home, smiling to myself, trying to hurry to stay warm...
I’ve spent the past few days running, writing, and seeing a few friends. My first full week of work as a stylist starts tomorrow. I seriously can’t believe it’s here already. I’m elated in so many different ways. I’ve been so content this past week and am so looking forward to starting the next part of my career.
This morning I’m up early and downtown at Intelligentsia coffee before the sun is up. I’ve adopted a new routine of coming here when they open at 6am then going to the gym next door. I’ve also recently developed a crush on a boy working behind the counter which has made my time spent here even more entertaining. I’ve only seen him a handful of times since coming but each time have been met with smiles and a little jump in my chest that I haven’t felt in a while.
When I push through the revolving door I see him standing with a girl at the register and feel my skin warm. I’ve wanted to talk to him but haven’t thought of anything clever to say. I notice that he’s gotten a haircut as I approach the counter and giggle to myself that that’s what I’m going to use to chat with him.
“Hi!” I smile at both of them and order a large Americano. “I like your haircut.” I tell the object of my affection while the girl rings me up.
“Thank you.” he smiles.
“Where’d you get it done?”
“A barber shop near Fullerton. It was my first experience in one.” He tells me about his time spent there explaining that he usually gets his haircut every five months or so. The first time I saw him his straight black hair was covering his ears. It’s now quite short and I wonder why he lets it go so long. I’m intrigued by his thoughts on his experience. I like men’s hairdressing and am always curious as to what it is they think and want in their service.
He’s quite talkative and I like it. I tell him I do hair and am always investigating people. Our conversation moves to where we’re from, how we got here and where we live now.
“Atlanta.” I smile. “You?”
“Alaska.”
(What?!)
“I came here for vacation and decided to move…”
“I moved here with my girlfriend at the time…”
“Wicker Park…”
“Logan Square…”
He gets busy so I sit and write with my Americano, occasionally looking up to meet his eyes, smiling and watching him look away first, making me smile more. I seriously have such a fourth grade crush on this guy. He seems to have a very gentle spirit about him and I want to know more.
I order another Americano an hour or so later. He makes it and asks what I’m writing.
“Right now? That’s my journal. I’m using it as a distraction from the novel project I have going on.” I blurt.
“A novel? What’s it about? Or do you not want to say or talk about it?”
Hair, grief, love, and yes I need to talk about it to remain accountable…is what I want to say but reign all that in. Something tells me though that I can share with him whatever I want. I just don’t want to do it yet.
“Oh no, I need to talk about it!” I laugh and tell him it’s about my experience doing hair in Atlanta. The subject of Rob is still lingering in my mind but I refuse to let it out.
“I’ve never met anyone who has written a novel.” Delicious boy tells me.
“Neither have I.” I laugh. “It’s quite the task.”
He smiles and holds out his hand over the espresso machine. “I’m Jeff.”
“Melissa.” I grin and place my hand in his feeling his fingers wrap around it and firmly deliver in my opinion, a perfect handshake.
“Good to meet you.”
“You as well.” I’m feeling all sorts of things spark in my brain.
He gets busy again and I get back to writing. Even though my heart may explode from all my caffeinated nervousness I’m slow with my writing and enjoying the process. After a while though I can’t sit still any longer. I scan the counter and don’t see Jeff behind it. I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I wait another minute or so and start thinking about leaving one of my cards with the girl at the register for him. As the thought leaves my mind though, he’s there. Standing next to me, out of no where and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Hey, I’m about to go on break and was wondering if you’d like to join me?”
EEEEEKKKKKK!!!!
“I would!” I shut my journal and put my pen down faster than lightening.
“Ok. I have only thirty minutes and need to get my things together. Are you vegetarian or vegan?”
“I move in that direction.” I nod.
“Ok, I was thinking about this little diner around the corner…”
“Perfect.” I smile.
He disappears and I pack my things up. Minutes later we’re outside inhaling the freezing February air.
“Have you eaten at many places downtown?” he asks.
“I haven’t. I don’t know a whole lot about this area.”
“I just know this block. There are a lot of great places tucked away though.”
The diner is in a huge building on the ground floor. The ceiling in the building reminds me of a fancy cake with all it‘s pink and green intricacies. We sit across from each other, both of us grinning. After ordering we bounce questions back and forth off of each other. I’m completely, totally, and utterly enjoying his calm, laid back nature. I feel I could possibly open up to him, maybe let him in…but later. A shift in my behavior has taken place since Charlie when it comes to dating. I’m starting to pay attention more to what I want instead of anticipating what they want and just going along with it. I still have a long road ahead of me concerning this project but am happy to be questioning my actions instead of blindly going forward.
Thirty minutes went by like thirty seconds. He’s off work at one and I’m…well I’m off all day and want to see more of him.
“May I ask for your number?” he asks.
“Of course.” I smile and tell it to him as he programs it into his phone.
“You want mine?” he asks.
“Sure. You can text it or call.”
“I’ll text it. Thank you for coming.” he smiles.
“Thank you for asking.” I return his smile and confess that I was going to leave my card with one of his co-workers. I tell him I have to run some errands but am free later if he wants to hang out.
“A nap is definitely in store for me, but after that, I’ll give you a call.”
“Deal.”
He thanks me again for coming along and goes back to work as I bounce to the gym.
After the gym, I head to the grocery store, home, then go for a run. It’s tough. I’m tired and feel my feet wanting to drag. The ground is clear and free of snow and ice so I feel guilty for not taking advantage of going.
Back at home, I quickly shower and spend some time writing. At a little after five Jeff texts me asking if I still want to hang out. I am stupid giddy and loving every second of it. I’m giggling as I text him back saying yes I do.
He calls a few minutes later. We decide on Café de Luca on Damen at 6:30. I really wanted to finish my writing and look presentable being he’s only seen me in my gym clothes.
At six, I’m hauling ass up there. I decided to walk instead of taking the bus. I suddenly feel a rush of negative feelings wash over me. I feel guilty that I’m keeping him out late, knowing he has to open again in the morning. I also feel badly for wanting to finish my writing before meeting up and voicing that. I quickly push it all away remembering that if this wasn’t what he was able to do he would tell me. As I turn on to Damen I see a guy pretty far ahead of me and by watching him I’m pretty sure it’s Jeff. Funny how someone’s movements can identify them.
It is Jeff and he’s turned around, smiling at me as I approach him.
“Hi!” I squeal walking into his open arms, wrapping mine around him.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Good. You?”
He nods. “Good. Looks like they’re closed.” he glances in the direction of the café.
“Well damn. Hmm.” I think for a moment and suggest a few other places nearby. We decide on the Bluebird, a fabulous bar down the street from where we’re standing.
“You look nice.” he tells me as we start walking.
“So do you.” I don’t get to drink him in until we’re seated across from each other at a small wooden table, beer in our hands, still smiling at each other. His warm hazel eyes sparkle, reflecting interest, and attraction. I quite like it, finding myself giving it back. He’s wearing a black sweater that is contrasting his smooth fair skin but enhancing his short, black, straight hair and facial hair. His smile lights me up and I find myself wanting to run my fingers over his as he sets his beer down after taking a sip.
“I admire your writing.” he tells me. “Most people write a few lines and stare off into space for a while but you’re really consistent with it.”
“Thank you!” I laugh.
“I was trying to sneak a peek at it. You really pack a lot in there.”
I nod. That I do and even then it’s not everything which makes me crazy.
Our conversation lasts through beer, dinner and more beer. We both have to be up early tomorrow and both said before dinner that we couldn’t stay out late. We’ve been here for five hours. So much for an early bedtime.
“I’m having a really good time with you.” he smiles.
“Me too.” I like hearing this. I don’t think to say it nearly enough when enjoying someone’s company.
“I’ve got to get going though.” he tells me.
“I know, me too.”
We both stand, putting all our winter gear on and minutes later we’re back out in the freezing air.
As we approach the huge Damen, Milwaukee, North Ave intersection he turns and gives me huge hug.
“You give a good hug!” he smiles.
“So do you!”
We both agree we had a great time and he asks if he can call me again.
“Of course!”
After saying goodnight, he turns to get on the train and I walk home, smiling to myself, trying to hurry to stay warm...
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Peace, love, coffee...
I'm sitting at San Fransisco Coffee in Atlanta feeling so in love. The sun is out and the air surrounding the place smells of freshly brewed caffinated deliciousness mixed with a faint sugary sweetness of baked things. I can't get enough. I don't ever want to exhale. I wish I could bottle up smells and keep them with me always. I would like a bottle of Rob, a bottle of this place, a bottle of my parents, a bottle of cookies, the list is endless...
It kills me I can't fully describe all the things that go through my mind when I'm here in Atlanta. I'm both anxious and calm. I'm everywhere and nowhere. I relive all sorts of memories and create new ones. I feel physically close to Rob when I'm here. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I'm surrounded by everything that reminds me of things we did. It hurts in ways I can't describe. I have visuals of places we went to together in Atlanta unlike Chicago. I go to these places and feel closer to him.
Currently I'm sitting at a table we shared one Sunday morning before heading to work. I remember him ordering a soy caramel latte and doing an impression of a southern Baptist preacher, making me laugh so hard I think I almost fell off my chair. I can still hear the tone of his voice now and it makes me smile. When I get like this I want these feelings to last forever. I want to sink into them, hang on to them, and never let them go. I freak out because I know they pass. They move in and out of me like air through my lungs.
Nineties music is playing taking me on all sorts of journeys. It moves from the Counting Crows to the Cranberries. Most of it isn't anything I'd rush home to download but is special enough to float through, to allow myself to drift out to the sea of past moments and live them again. From a church youth retreat when I was 12, to the fall of my freshman year of high school to sitting in the passenger seat of Nathan's Celica on a date, I am reminded that all this music used to be part of "now". It's currently in the past which feels weird that so much time as gone by. Life is still moving and this music is a gentle reminder of that.
I guess while I'm bottling up smells, I'd like to bottle up memories and feelings to keep with me also. My writing doesn't do justice to what's in my head. I feel so completely wide open today. I love being this way. I want to save it and pull out on a bad day to remind myself how much happiness is out there to have and experience. I'd really like to share all of this with someone, anyone really, but I'm trying to keep it with me, hold it, wait for an available, safe, healthy person to open myself up to. I'd like to stop hurting myself, stop getting attached to people who aren't actually there and delve into something real. I think... It's hard to be healthy though when all I've done is hurt myself in one way or another.
After a while I leave and go see Shannon. We're going to have lunch at Alon's Bakery. While driving down North Highland, I pass LaRaine's bridal store. Hearts are on the window and I smile thinking of Rob and him sending them. I remember the Saturday before Easter Sunday, we were walking back to my place from dinner and he nodded in the direction of the store saying we should get me a dress from there. I joked with him saying it was awfully fancy for an Easter dress...
I catch a glimpse of my little Celica parked where I usually kept it at Kat and Gordon's and feel my smile broaden. I am so full of giddyness that it's almost like he's still alive...
It's so good to see Shannon. I talk her face off and wish I could pack her up with me. After lunch I drive over to Kat and Gordon's and change clothes. I run through Freedom Park and into Candler Park. It's perfect outside and I'm elated running through my favorite places. While running down McClendon Ave I feel connected to Rob and everything around me in a way I can't describe. It's like he's here inside me, joining me on my run. My iPOD is clicked into "Shuffle" mode and "Addicted" comes on. I "hear" the words "I love you" in my head. "I love you too." I say back smiling to myself. "I miss you." I "hear" the voice tell me. "I miss you too." I tell it.
I realize this could put me in the category of schizophrenics with all this in my head but there isn't a doubt in my mind that it's real. I remember a few weeks after Rob died, a coworker of mine explained that he'll "talk" to me. She's had more experience with death than I care to imagine so I paid a lot of attention to that and a lot of attention to the little things that have popped up in my path, from a South Carolina license plate to the words "I love you' somewhere to the kind words spoken from a friend.
I am still confused though and still second guessing myself. I have almost 200 songs on my little iPOD and "Addicted" just happened to start playing? At the same spot almost on the street that it played back in October when I was driving and heard it? I wish to myself that my head isn't screwing with me, that this is real and I'm not making it up. Seconds later, while still running, I look up and see a silver car with a South Carolina license plate on the back of it. I'm beaming feeling a calm sensation take over my body. My friend Derek told me that there are all sorts of things out there, we just have to be open to them. This is confusing to me. How come some people are and some aren't? I've felt that Rob never fully left me. I miss him terribly but don't feel abandoned. There's been a sort of calm that's floated around with me since. Whether or not I choose to tap into it is my own choice. Sometimes I walk away from it for a little bit, but always return.
I finish my run and meet Kat at their place when she gets done with work. We walk up the street to Harry and Sons for sushi. We talk nonstop about the events of the past month. I miss her terribly. Even sitting across from her, knowing I have to go back soon, I miss her and want to keep her with me always.
I leave shortly after dinner, wanting to be back at mom and dad's at a decent hour. I climb into dad's truck, and head to the interstate. I feel completely free. I don't live in Atlanta anymore and can come and go as I please, enjoying all the good stuff and leaving before losing my mind. Currently I'm not in Chicago with all it's challenges of the everyday life I've settled into. I'm on this long stretch of interstate with such a sense of peace that I never ever want to leave.
An upbeat song I've heard on occasion starts playing. I'm not sure who sings it but the chorus says "I love you" several times. How do I describe this? I am lit from within. I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. This is the closest I've come to feeling physically with Rob since he died. It's like being injected with a powerful dose of the most intense love you could ever know.
My description of this pales when comparing it to what's happening. I've never had to find words to match a feeling like this before. There is no sadness, no wishing he were next to me or wishing I could share this with him because he's here, All I have is right now. Nothing else exists. It's all I could ever want. If I try to wrap my mind around it, it'll go away. I just have to feel it and hope that I can retain it. It's so strong and so lucid that I crave it, even while experiencing it. It's nothing I've ever felt before.
The song ends and I have to return to Earth. I'm so happy to feel this...to somehow open up to it. I want to be more open to it but don't know how yet. I try to just take everything as it comes and feel privileged that I can experience the short moments like this that I do.
Home. Mom and I stay up talking about relationships and marriage. I don't want to think about any of it. All my interactions with the opposite sex have had an underlying theme of "are you the one?" Maybe it's a human nature thing. Maybe it's a reflection of my southern upbringing. I don't know. What I do know is that I'm tired of that. I want to experience people as they are without worrying about anything else. I want to let go and be happy in any given moment no matter who I'm with or not with. This is easier said than done being I've lived my adult life seven steps ahead instead of in whatever moment I find myself in.
The subject of Rob comes up. Mom says "We don't really know what would have happened with you two if he lived. You were dead set on moving to Chicago."
A burst of anger makes my blood boil. I try to remain calm and remember that I never shared my feelings or intuitions with her. Or anyone really for that matter. When I decided to move to Chicago (before meeting Rob) I somehow "knew" that I would spend through my savings, get into a car accident and fall in love but it wouldn't last. (At least, not in the way I had imagined or wanted it to.) At the time that I had these feelings, I had no savings, hadn't been on a date in God knows how long and the accident? Well.. I did live in Atlanta where anything can happen so that one I wasn't too apprehensive about.
Sure enough, I managed to save up some money, fall in love, get into an accident, lose that love and spend through what I saved while taking time off from work to grieve and write.
I shared all of this with mom. I don't know if she believes me or not. I guess it doesn't matter. I know what I felt. I don't know if she has feelings like this. This is part of why I can second guess what's in my head because I feel like the two people who brought me into this world can't totally relate to what I'm talking about and it makes me feel isolated and alone in a way. I do look for understanding elsewhere and am always happy when I get it, it's just that I crave closeness with my parents. I must admit it's hard imagining them as human beings with their own set of thoughts and life experiences. It's hard to be gentle and understanding when I want something so badly that I can't totally explain it to ask for it I just know it's there and I need it from them. I wish to know them in other ways but have such an incredibly difficult time getting to a vulnerable enough place to ask anything or tell anything. It's much easier to sit in the child role I've been in my entire life...
It kills me I can't fully describe all the things that go through my mind when I'm here in Atlanta. I'm both anxious and calm. I'm everywhere and nowhere. I relive all sorts of memories and create new ones. I feel physically close to Rob when I'm here. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I'm surrounded by everything that reminds me of things we did. It hurts in ways I can't describe. I have visuals of places we went to together in Atlanta unlike Chicago. I go to these places and feel closer to him.
Currently I'm sitting at a table we shared one Sunday morning before heading to work. I remember him ordering a soy caramel latte and doing an impression of a southern Baptist preacher, making me laugh so hard I think I almost fell off my chair. I can still hear the tone of his voice now and it makes me smile. When I get like this I want these feelings to last forever. I want to sink into them, hang on to them, and never let them go. I freak out because I know they pass. They move in and out of me like air through my lungs.
Nineties music is playing taking me on all sorts of journeys. It moves from the Counting Crows to the Cranberries. Most of it isn't anything I'd rush home to download but is special enough to float through, to allow myself to drift out to the sea of past moments and live them again. From a church youth retreat when I was 12, to the fall of my freshman year of high school to sitting in the passenger seat of Nathan's Celica on a date, I am reminded that all this music used to be part of "now". It's currently in the past which feels weird that so much time as gone by. Life is still moving and this music is a gentle reminder of that.
I guess while I'm bottling up smells, I'd like to bottle up memories and feelings to keep with me also. My writing doesn't do justice to what's in my head. I feel so completely wide open today. I love being this way. I want to save it and pull out on a bad day to remind myself how much happiness is out there to have and experience. I'd really like to share all of this with someone, anyone really, but I'm trying to keep it with me, hold it, wait for an available, safe, healthy person to open myself up to. I'd like to stop hurting myself, stop getting attached to people who aren't actually there and delve into something real. I think... It's hard to be healthy though when all I've done is hurt myself in one way or another.
After a while I leave and go see Shannon. We're going to have lunch at Alon's Bakery. While driving down North Highland, I pass LaRaine's bridal store. Hearts are on the window and I smile thinking of Rob and him sending them. I remember the Saturday before Easter Sunday, we were walking back to my place from dinner and he nodded in the direction of the store saying we should get me a dress from there. I joked with him saying it was awfully fancy for an Easter dress...
I catch a glimpse of my little Celica parked where I usually kept it at Kat and Gordon's and feel my smile broaden. I am so full of giddyness that it's almost like he's still alive...
It's so good to see Shannon. I talk her face off and wish I could pack her up with me. After lunch I drive over to Kat and Gordon's and change clothes. I run through Freedom Park and into Candler Park. It's perfect outside and I'm elated running through my favorite places. While running down McClendon Ave I feel connected to Rob and everything around me in a way I can't describe. It's like he's here inside me, joining me on my run. My iPOD is clicked into "Shuffle" mode and "Addicted" comes on. I "hear" the words "I love you" in my head. "I love you too." I say back smiling to myself. "I miss you." I "hear" the voice tell me. "I miss you too." I tell it.
I realize this could put me in the category of schizophrenics with all this in my head but there isn't a doubt in my mind that it's real. I remember a few weeks after Rob died, a coworker of mine explained that he'll "talk" to me. She's had more experience with death than I care to imagine so I paid a lot of attention to that and a lot of attention to the little things that have popped up in my path, from a South Carolina license plate to the words "I love you' somewhere to the kind words spoken from a friend.
I am still confused though and still second guessing myself. I have almost 200 songs on my little iPOD and "Addicted" just happened to start playing? At the same spot almost on the street that it played back in October when I was driving and heard it? I wish to myself that my head isn't screwing with me, that this is real and I'm not making it up. Seconds later, while still running, I look up and see a silver car with a South Carolina license plate on the back of it. I'm beaming feeling a calm sensation take over my body. My friend Derek told me that there are all sorts of things out there, we just have to be open to them. This is confusing to me. How come some people are and some aren't? I've felt that Rob never fully left me. I miss him terribly but don't feel abandoned. There's been a sort of calm that's floated around with me since. Whether or not I choose to tap into it is my own choice. Sometimes I walk away from it for a little bit, but always return.
I finish my run and meet Kat at their place when she gets done with work. We walk up the street to Harry and Sons for sushi. We talk nonstop about the events of the past month. I miss her terribly. Even sitting across from her, knowing I have to go back soon, I miss her and want to keep her with me always.
I leave shortly after dinner, wanting to be back at mom and dad's at a decent hour. I climb into dad's truck, and head to the interstate. I feel completely free. I don't live in Atlanta anymore and can come and go as I please, enjoying all the good stuff and leaving before losing my mind. Currently I'm not in Chicago with all it's challenges of the everyday life I've settled into. I'm on this long stretch of interstate with such a sense of peace that I never ever want to leave.
An upbeat song I've heard on occasion starts playing. I'm not sure who sings it but the chorus says "I love you" several times. How do I describe this? I am lit from within. I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. This is the closest I've come to feeling physically with Rob since he died. It's like being injected with a powerful dose of the most intense love you could ever know.
My description of this pales when comparing it to what's happening. I've never had to find words to match a feeling like this before. There is no sadness, no wishing he were next to me or wishing I could share this with him because he's here, All I have is right now. Nothing else exists. It's all I could ever want. If I try to wrap my mind around it, it'll go away. I just have to feel it and hope that I can retain it. It's so strong and so lucid that I crave it, even while experiencing it. It's nothing I've ever felt before.
The song ends and I have to return to Earth. I'm so happy to feel this...to somehow open up to it. I want to be more open to it but don't know how yet. I try to just take everything as it comes and feel privileged that I can experience the short moments like this that I do.
Home. Mom and I stay up talking about relationships and marriage. I don't want to think about any of it. All my interactions with the opposite sex have had an underlying theme of "are you the one?" Maybe it's a human nature thing. Maybe it's a reflection of my southern upbringing. I don't know. What I do know is that I'm tired of that. I want to experience people as they are without worrying about anything else. I want to let go and be happy in any given moment no matter who I'm with or not with. This is easier said than done being I've lived my adult life seven steps ahead instead of in whatever moment I find myself in.
The subject of Rob comes up. Mom says "We don't really know what would have happened with you two if he lived. You were dead set on moving to Chicago."
A burst of anger makes my blood boil. I try to remain calm and remember that I never shared my feelings or intuitions with her. Or anyone really for that matter. When I decided to move to Chicago (before meeting Rob) I somehow "knew" that I would spend through my savings, get into a car accident and fall in love but it wouldn't last. (At least, not in the way I had imagined or wanted it to.) At the time that I had these feelings, I had no savings, hadn't been on a date in God knows how long and the accident? Well.. I did live in Atlanta where anything can happen so that one I wasn't too apprehensive about.
Sure enough, I managed to save up some money, fall in love, get into an accident, lose that love and spend through what I saved while taking time off from work to grieve and write.
I shared all of this with mom. I don't know if she believes me or not. I guess it doesn't matter. I know what I felt. I don't know if she has feelings like this. This is part of why I can second guess what's in my head because I feel like the two people who brought me into this world can't totally relate to what I'm talking about and it makes me feel isolated and alone in a way. I do look for understanding elsewhere and am always happy when I get it, it's just that I crave closeness with my parents. I must admit it's hard imagining them as human beings with their own set of thoughts and life experiences. It's hard to be gentle and understanding when I want something so badly that I can't totally explain it to ask for it I just know it's there and I need it from them. I wish to know them in other ways but have such an incredibly difficult time getting to a vulnerable enough place to ask anything or tell anything. It's much easier to sit in the child role I've been in my entire life...
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