Food, Sparklies, Love...

The next day, April 21st, I’m up at 6am then went back to sleep until 8am. When I wake up my mind’s eye is remembering fringes of a dream. Something about an ocean, or beach with lots of people…
Jeff is awake as well and we’re inches from each other’s faces, staring at each other.
“How are you?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know.” I exhale. I explain that I could sleep forever. I tell him about the times in Atlanta when working for Van Michael I slept on one occasion for 16 hours and another for 18 hours. I seriously only got up for food and the bathroom. I forgot about anything and everything. I think my body was trying to tell me something at that time…I haven’t done it since but today, I totally feel I could fall into that.
I don’t want to though. I don’t want to sleep for an entire day. I don’t want to avoid my feelings by drifting off like that. I sit up and climb on him, back straight, hands pressed on his stomach. My mouth opens and out pours the events of today two years ago. I tell him about having mom’s car, about the idea of me renting one because of my accident not crossing my mind because Rob died so soon after that and how dad asked why I didn’t rent one and I felt myself nearly exploding but held it in because, well, he was just asking a question. I told him about going to buy my diamond band, about talking to the woman who sold it to me, about how she pulled three rings from their stockroom and when I saw the ring I bought something in me jumped and I “knew” that was the one I had to have. It felt as if Rob had picked it out for me. I shared with him about buying the “Saving Abel” CD after that. I told him too about waking up that day and trying to eat granola but couldn’t. I stared at the wall for a while before texting Nathan at 6:45am asking if he was awake. I told Jeff about meeting up with Nathan later, and telling him everything while sitting in his truck in the Wendy’s parking lot that afternoon after having lunch with my family and about the dream he shared with me that he had the night before.
I talk and talk and talk until I feel the tears behind my eyes threatening to fall. I stopped talking and folded forward, resting my cheek on Jeff’s chest allowing a couple of tears to escape but pushing the rest back in. He’s said before he’s surprised I don’t cry in front of him. I can’t. I don’t know why. The urge is there. At one point, briefly, and only right after Rob died I was able to cry in front of people. After that I hid in the bathroom at work to let it out and once I moved to Chicago for whatever reason I found the tears falling on Division street or Milwaukee Ave, or in the Evanston bathroom. Sometimes they would emerge while taking a shower or at Charlie’s but now? I keep it all tucked away.
There is no explanation for it besides fear. I’m scared that I’m too much for people. That I need too much, want to much, feel too much. I’m scared to let my grief in when it wants attention. I don’t know how to give it space anymore. It’s changed so much in the past two years. I also don’t know how to deal with people’s reactions to it. Charlie couldn’t take it and Jeff? He’s at least open to hearing me, but again, I’m scared of sharing too much. I don’t want my past experience to take away from the current experience. That being said I don’t know how to let them coexist.
We’re both hungry. Once we’re up, Jeff makes coffee and we both make oatmeal. I end up finishing mine before he’s done cooking his. One of his roommates comes in the kitchen and we chat about her sewing endeavors. I adore this girl and all her beautiful, delicateness. I envy the way she gracefully conducts herself.
Jeff makes more coffee and we take it into his living room, sitting on a couch by a large window. We’ve had some pretty amazing conversations here. I love how calm I am when in his presence and in his space.
I unleash more stuff that I’ve held in since Charlie and I broke up. Jeff quietly listens and I feel better for having it off my chest. Eventually he gets in the shower and I pull out my sparklies while his roommates watch a movie. I feel good for working on my jewelry in front of people. I usually keep this stuff private, only letting people see the final product. No one sees the process.
Jeff joins us later and after a while we decide it’s time to get food for lunch. I put everything away and go to the store with him picking out peanut butter, bread and an apple. He wants spaghetti.
Back at his place I carefully and slowly as possible make a sandwich with the groceries while he cooks the pasta. I try to remember I need to do what I need to do for myself. I’m feeling insecure about food lately. I hate eating while he’s cooking but hate waiting too. In the past with whomever I’ve been with, I go along with whatever they want and eat whenever and whatever they want. This time around I’m trying to ask myself what is it I want, what will make me feel good and go with that. It’s excruciating though with this disorder plus wanting to share everything, including food and the experience of making it with Jeff. So much is centered around eating that it’s enough to make my head spin until I can’t see straight.
Later, I finish the earrings I started for the girl at Lovely and pack up to leave for OA.
“I have no idea why it feels so good to do this once a week for only an hour but it does.” I tell Jeff.
“You’re doing something for yourself.” he explains.
I never thought about it that way. We agree to meet up at my place when I’m done.
The meeting is small. I share about slipping up this week with eating too much for several days in a row but not about Rob. I was on the fence about sharing about him but when the time came, I decided not to.
On my way home, I stop at Whole Foods for a salad to take home. Jeff gets to my place shortly after I do. We sit on the couch, him with a glass of water, me with the salad. Three bites in and I want to put it away and forget I even bought it. I don’t want to eat in front of him. I remind myself that he’s not judging me and take another bite. Chew. Swallow. I hate this. I want to stop, but I’m hungry and entitled to dinner. Chew. Swallow. Why is he watching me? I’m disgusting. Chew. Swallow. I’m going to tear my skin off. Chew. Swallow.
“Whatcha thinking’? he asks, breaking my concentration.
“I’m getting squirrelly.”
“Why? Because of food?”
I nod.
“I’m not thinking anything. You just need to let it go.”
“Don’t you tell me what I need to let go of… or how to feel!” I snap, southern accent intact. I was half joking (because I know he doesn’t mean to tell me anything) half serious (because I’m not ok with being told to let go of anything) but he took me seriously. The expression on his face looked like I had just slapped him.
“Well then.” he took his hand off my knee where it had been resting.
We were silent until I finally said that I’m deeply embarrassed that I have a problem with food. Normal people can eat when they’re hungry and stop when they’re full. They can eat what they want and think nothing of it. I can’t do these things. I’m extremely sensitive to it. If I could let go, I would. If I could be normal, I would be but this is what it is right now.
My roommate comes home. Jeff and I retreat to my room where he explains that he feels I’m looping him in with everyone else in my life that tells me to let go of things.
I stare at him trying to turn over his words in my head and see where he’s coming from instead of unleashing rage that has nothing to do with him on his sweet self.
“I didn’t like how you were so quick to crack the whip on me. I wish you would have thought before speaking.”
I explain that I was trying to remain calm the whole time I was eating, although he didn’t know that and his comment sent me over the edge. I snapped because I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I’ve never had someone watch me as much as Jeff does. I love his attention, I do, it just for me, brings attention to every move I’m making and I get nervous always fearing that I’m doing something “wrong” or “unattractive”.
We settle down and end up changing the subject. It feels good to calmly, rationally talk through something with someone and know that in the end, it’s all ok.

Dear Stranger...

Hello there, person I’ve never met. Do you have a moment? I need to give something away. It’s something I don’t know how to give to someone that is already established here in my life, someone who already knows me. I need you dear stranger to hold this for me if you will, simply because you don’t know me, because I don’t fear your reaction to my emotional outbursts, because you don’t know me as the “sweet”, “happy” girl that everyone else sees. Don’t get me wrong, I am that person but I am many other things as well, and I somehow came to the understanding that those other things aren’t acceptable.
I don’t know what to do with all of it though. I need to get it out but I don’t know where to place it. I’m a ball of energy bouncing around with no direction right now. I’m scared of being “caught” of being “held” in place because that will make me stop for a moment and actually feel something. On the flip side though, I want to feel it. I want all the grief, all the sadness, all the hurt to fill me up so I can let it go and take a another step forward. Problem with that is I don’t let it go. It comes up like bile and sits in my throat instead of continuing along it’s course, exiting through my mouth. I hold it in place because I’m afraid of letting it out. I’m afraid of the rush I’ll feel, the spark of emotion that might send me into an oblivion I don’t want to know or see. I know what happens when I let it all stay trapped in my throat. I get angry because I’m choking on it, fighting with it, but eventually I learn to swallow and digest it that way until it wants to visit again and the cycle repeats.
There are times though when I let a little go. I’ll cough something up to someone and sometimes it feels good and sometimes I still get angry because well, I don’t want to admit to needing anything. I don’t want to admit that Rob’s gone and has been for a while now. I don’t like that my feelings could and certainly do bring up other emotions for the person I’m speaking to. I don’t know where to go with it though so if you don’t mind I’d like to simply hold all of this for me until I feel I can take it back and function in the world again…

Twenty Four Months...

I hate writing the title of this entry. I hate time. Whoever said time makes it better lied. A client once told me that love, not time, heals all wounds. I feel I’m surrounded by love today and yet it still isn’t enough. When will it be? Will it ever?
I don’t know how to write about today. I feel my thoughts are coming in fragments like they do when I get emotionally overwhelmed. My manager at Salon Red told me when the two year anniversary of her father’s death was approaching that it hurt worse then the one year anniversary. I wasn’t sure I agreed with that then but today, I do.
Despite my having trouble sitting still today, I want my feelings. I want to feel however it is I’m supposed to feel and move through it. I’m not entirely sure how to go about this because I never allow it to happen but maybe for a lil bit, if I can just let go of myself long enough…
Last year I didn’t have a definite plan as to what I wanted to do on April 20th. I wanted to keep my routine as close as possible to the typical things I do on my day off and this year I wanted to do the same but allow more room for crying if need be, or writing if I chose to do that. I also scheduled a massage with a woman who has studied “intuitive massage”. I was hoping to relax plus get some feedback on my current situation.
It’s beautiful outside. The sun is out and sparkling through the green leaves of the trees I’m walking under to get to Nourhy’s studio. She’s not far from my house and works out of her apartment.
“Hi! Come in!” she says, opening the door revealing her adorable living space.
We sit on her couch and she has me fill out some brief paper work. I contemplate telling her about Rob and today but don’t. She takes me into the small massage room and tells me where to put my things.
“I’ll let you get settled. Lay face down on the table.” she tells me and closes the door.
I carefully place my clothes and things on a small table in the bathroom that is connected to the massage room and walk over to the massage table, and stretch out, face down and try to breathe…
Minutes later she opens the door and gets started. I haven’t had a massage since before I left Atlanta. Feeling her hands press into my knotted up muscles releasing all the tension I’ve held there is a reminder that I need more of this in life.
“Where are you from?” she asks.
“Atlanta.” I say into the face pillow.
“You need a vacation. You miss your family a lot.” her hands move down my back.
Yes and yes, but when?
She continues. For ninety lovely minutes. I was hoping she’d work out every single knot and kink, but she doesn’t. Then again, that might take a week’s worth of work for her. She holds my head for a while, not moving, then moves to my feet and for what seems to be almost an abnormal amount of time she holds them too and we just breathe.
I was hoping to feel some sort of release, hoping to open some door to walk through, where it was safe to cry, to just be, but I felt none of that, just relaxed.
At the end, when I’m dressed and sitting on her couch again she tells me that I’m standing in my own way when it come to achieving the things I want to achieve. She explains I may move again.
“Chicago is great for now, but I see you somewhere like Colorado or Washington. Follow your intuition, go your own way.”
For some reason, I feel a weird pull towards Seattle. I’ve never been but want to go. I imagine being there in my forties. I don’t know where this vision came from but I entertain it from time to time.
“You need to talk more. Your feet are a good representation of your entire body. Being you’re ticklish lets me know that you’re not ok being yourself. Talk. Open up, no matter what. You need to get it out.”
Please love, tell me how. I’m not sure when I stopped talking. I know I started again after Rob died but then I started getting quiet again. I want to share, I have a lot to share, but it’s too scary. I’m too judgmental.
Before I leave she tells me I’m too serious and there’s no need for all of that. I leave feeling…not sure…it was like we didn’t totally connect in a warm and fuzzy way but she was dead on about my life and how I behave.
I walk and walk, stopping into a little store on Damen to look around after leaving her place. I buy Jeff a teeny handmade mug that reminds me of an espresso mug. It says “love” on it with a little heart below the word.
Jeff is off work. I meet him downtown and we head back to Wicker Park to Toast for lunch. I eat too much. I’m happy to see him even though I can’t quite get settled or explain everything in my head.
Back at my house one of my roommates is home. I was hoping to, I don’t know. Be alone. Be with Jeff. Talk. Not talk. Nothing will settle down the itch that longs to be scratched. I can’t even find the itch but it’s there and it’s begging for attention.
“How are you?” Jeff asks we we’re sitting on my bed.
I’m near tears when I reply “I’m sad.”
“I was wondering…you seemed awfully perky earlier. I didn’t expect that. I’m sorry you’re sad though.”
I could cry. I know I could. He won’t think anything about it. I don’t though. I talk a little about how I’ve felt today but I know he’s tired and needs to take a nap. When he tells me so I go into my living room hoping to pull out my sparklies.
My roommate is in the living room. Rarely does this happen. It wouldn’t matter any other day but today… I seriously want to be alone. I don’t know where to go or what to do so I walk outside to the park across the street from my apartment, sit on the steps leading to a stretch of grass, sit and cry. I’m so uncomfortable.
I call my friend Shannon and explain today. She reminds me to feel how I’m feeling. My tears begin to dry up and turn into laughter when I hear her in the middle of Whole Foods looking for ranch dressing at the salad bar. I love Shannon for a million different reasons. She has seen all my sparkly pieces and the ugly bits and she loves me anyway.
She lets me go and I begin walking back to my apartment desperately wanting Jeff to be outside with me but reigning myself in from expecting him to read my mind. He could still be asleep for all I know.
He’s awake I see when I peek into my room. I crawl into bed and smash against him. He tells me he thought I was in the shower when he heard the water turn on but then looked outside and saw me on the phone. I giggle and tell him a little about my chat with Shannon. I am so tired…
I want to get sushi for dinner tonight being that Rob and I spent most of our dates eating raw fish laughing about how we both liked the same things.
“Where are we going again?” Jeff asks me as I will myself off the bed and into a change of clothes.
“Coast on Damen.” I reply. “Wanna walk?”
“Sure.”
It’s busy when we get there. I’m not really looking forward to screaming at him from across the table. We talk a little, eat, talk a little more until we head back to my place. I’m full and empty all at the same time. I don’t know how to be to where to put my feelings. On Jeff? On paper? On something or someone else? None of the above?
After dinner Jeff and I head to his place after stopping at mine so I can pick up my sparklies. I feel badly that I didn’t work on them today but I know I can tomorrow. Another girl at Lovely has asked me to make her a pair of earrings and I’m thrilled!
Once we get to Jeff’s I feel anti-social. I sit on his bed while he talks to one of his roommates and flip through a book he has out on a table. I start giving myself a hard time for not going out into the kitchen and engaging in conversation but I’m not feelin’ it. When he returns we get ready for bed. Once the lights are out he asks how I am. I have no words. I answer with “I don’t know” and “tired” before falling asleep.