Positive...

Before I go bat shit fucking crazy and start going to places where I’m not making any sense, let me just say this as a disclaimer of sorts…I am one angry turkey. It’s that time of year again when I’m reminded of losing Rob and I don’t know where to put my feelings. They would like a direction and writing has certainly given me that direction as well as running, and the focus that work offers has been welcome but nothing fully eases all this sadness, grief, and anger.
I should talk. I know this. I should open up to another human being. Preferably a therapist who has an unbiased opinion but what I want, is to be open with the people I’m closest to but that’s too hard. I want to tell the person in front of me that I hurt, but for me, hurt equals weakness and I don’t want to show anyone that.
Why?
Well, for starters, every time I open my mouth I feel like I’m slamming my head against a wall. The wall is thick and made of the hardest concrete and keeps any sound from permeating through it. Tears are also threatening to come if the words don’t. I’ve gone right back to not wanting to cry in front of people. When I do squeak something out it usually starts innocently enough but morphs into some strange rambling with no direction and when I’m finally done, I feel silly for all that I’ve given up to someone.
Then there’s the “positive” feedback. This is where the person I’m speaking to reminds me to remain “positive.” What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing this whole fucking time?! I could have gone down a scary road. I feel I’ve worked very hard at remaining positive, at seeing the good at having to learn such an excruciating lesson so early in life. When Rob died, I took time for myself. I didn’t shut off, I talked to people. I made time for writing and running. I went back to work, and did the best I could to function in society. I didn’t sink into my eating disorder, but continued to go to meetings and continued to connect with people. Eventually I made it up to Chicago which was the plan to begin with. I could have stayed in Atlanta, could have stopped everything but nope, I chose to keep going. So tell me dear person, where is it that you come off saying that I need to stay “positive” when I feel I have? Since when is it not ok not to be sad, or hurt or angry or even selfish? Sometimes I need to be. I react so strongly to your “positive” declarations because I feel I’m not entitled to feel anything else. Even when I do and express those feelings I always feel the need to wrap up my lil outburst with something positive, just so you can be assured that I am in fact ok and I’m not headed for the looney bin any time soon. Regardless of entitlement, the feelings, the negative ones are still there, waiting patiently to descend and make their presence known just as much as the positives ones. If I don’t feel everything as it comes I’ll be even more of a mess than I am now and what fun would that be?
I don’t ask for these feelings. I don’t ask for anger and hurt. I know you don’t either. I don’t know why they come. I don’t know why I constantly want to yell and scream and punch things. I miss Rob, sure. I love him still, yes. Sometimes I can’t believe that this happened. That one minute he was there and the next, in an instant, he’s not. How does anyone wrap their mind around death? How can you ask me to stay positive when you have no idea what’s going on in my head, the depths of anything I’m currently feeling? Maybe I would be if I could be but for today, it’s not going to happen.
So, well meaning human, what I need is acceptance. Not only from you but from myself. I need acceptance that all my feelings can be experienced freely and openly no matter how dark they seem to be. I need to feel ok with being angry without fear of having to be reminded to be positive. I need to sink into the dark stuff, the weakness, the anger, the hurt to keep on feeling the positive feelings that I more often than not posses. Please and thank you.

Heaven...

It’s Sunday and one of my clients, we’ll call her Jackie, is coming in for an adjustment. I met her about a week ago and had a wonderful conversation about meditating and spirituality. I don’t get in that deep with people usually but every now and then someone special crosses my path and reminds me there is so much more out there…
“I’m so sorry! I really do love my hair, it’s just I need more off the length.” she exclaims before sitting in my chair.
“It’s no problem!” I laugh, happy to see her. We decide how much I’ll be taking off and I get started.
We start talking about writing. She’d love nothing more than to sit in a cabin out in nature and write a book.
“Me too!” I exclaim. I don’t want to be too far away from people though but for a little while that sounds really nice.
Our words bounce back forth between what we’ve done in the past as far as employment and what we’d like to do in the future. She used to be a massage therapist and energy healer, two things I’m fascinated by. The things we want require money and time, two things I’m generally not ok with. My impatient self wants everything right this minute.
Somehow the subject of Rob comes up. I tell her about losing him, about the South Carolina license plates and the “I love yous” that I see on occasion.
“You are so lucky!” she beams.
My eyes tear up and I nod. “I feel that way.”
“He’s still here.” she reminds me.
I nod.
“You know what I think?” she asks. “I think you two were up in Heaven, hashing out the details of your lives, picking your parents, your lessons and when you’d meet. He knew that his life’s work would be done and in order for you to move forward, he’d have to leave so you could live.”
I’m losing it as she puts words to the thought that ha been in my mind since I met Rob. She stands and hugs me. I never want to let her go. We’re covered in her hair but it doesn’t matter.
“I totally feel that way.” I smile, wiping my face as she sits down again but faces me. Nothing else matters more than right now. Noise and people are buzzing around me but she’s the only person I see.
Her words remind me of a morning that I woke up wrapped up in Rob’s arms which was in my opinion impossible because we each liked to be on our own sides of the bed when it was time to go to sleep. This particular morning I remember having a hard time opening my eyes, not wanting to let go of something. It was dreamlike and felt as if we went somewhere together. When we both opened our eyes I felt that he felt this way too because he hugged me hard saying that he didn’t want to let me go. I still wonder if he felt whatever it was I was feeling to the extent that I did.
Jackie reminds me again how lucky I am to have him with me always. I explain that I have a hard time talking about all of this with my family. I want to. I want to share all the little things with them but in the past when I’ve told mom about the South Carolina plates or sent dad an email I’m met with skepticism or silence.
Pat reminds me that I must’ve chosen mom to be my mom because of our differences like this.
“You need her to have those opinions to gain confidence in your own beliefs.”
That is quite possibly the most positive spin anyone could ever put on it.
“I’m so glad you came in.” I tell her as I finish up her hair.
“We obviously had messages for each other.” she smiles and hugs me goodbye.

Love and Clippers...

Two years ago today it was Easter Sunday. Rob and I were up early getting all fancy, him in a hurry because he was late, and me, not so much because I didn’t have to leave until later.
Today it’s Tuesday and the start of my work week. I’m in Chicago waking up next to Jeff and pulling myself out of bed to go run. It’s dark outside still but I love it. The sky is just beginning to lighten up. This is my favorite time of day.
Last night while falling asleep Jeff asked if there was anything on my mind. This cracks me up. He and I spent most of the day drinking coffee on his couch yesterday and having intense, wonderful, deep conversations. I’m not sure how it is that I haven’t covered everything that my brain could possibly come up with or hold today.
“Hmm…nope. You?”
He’s quiet for a while until he asks, “Is it ok if I call you my girlfriend?”
I giggle. “Of course.”
We laugh at how it’s annoying to constantly refer to the other one when talking to people as “this guy/girl” I’m seeing.
He hugged me hard. I felt calm, content, and happy. It’s like some sort of anxiety was just scraped away. Not that I didn’t think we were going to go in this direction, it’s just nice to have it said out loud.
I return home from my run and get ready for work. Once there I get no-showed by my first one and everyone after that wanted to change their hair. My most challenging was a boy who had hair that was about 3 inches below the top of his ear. He showed me a picture of a haircut that was extremely short, something I’d have to do with the clippers. Now I’m not real fond of the clippers. George teases me about it on a regular basis and is always encouraging me to use them.
I stare at the picture trying to find a way out of this. There is no way. I have to do it. I remind myself that I have everything I need right now. Help is here should something happen.
After shampooing my client I walk over to George’s station and rummage through it looking for his clippers. He walks up to me in the middle of doing this.
“May I use your clippers?” I ask.
“Of course you can!” he exclaims and reaches passed me to pull out a comb and the clippers. While he’s doing this, I notice something on the inside of his station’s cabinet door. It’s a small piece of paper with the words “I love you” written on it in his son’s handwriting. My eyes flood with tears for a second out of gratitude and out of fear for what is going to happen once I turn these things on and start running them up my client’s head. I’m reminded though of a friend’s words when she told me to imagine God there with you in any situation you find yourself fearful in. Seeing the words “I love you” written there in George’s station reminded me that I’m not alone.
“May the force be with you.” George smiled and left for the day.
I cut my client’s hair and was proud of and happy with the end result as was my client. Whew!

Fear...

Will I always freak out over a relationship? Why does being involved with someone consume my mind, and stress me out to a point to where my arms and hands are in dermatitis crisis mode? Why does sharing my life with someone pull me away from the life I was living alone? Where did my little creative mind go and why is it stuck to this boy like a fly on sticky paper?
I’ve been trying my best to strike a balance between Jeff, my friends, work and my “alone” time with writing, the gym, running, necklace and earring making. It’s all overwhelming and I’m not sure what I’m doing just yet. I’ve never done this well before. When I’m with someone my life fills with them, my brain is in overdrive with thoughts of them, and I forget who I am. I’m desperately trying to hang on to what little I’ve discovered about myself and continue forward in a healthy way with Jeff.
We’re smashed together when I wake up and listen to his soft breathing before he opens his eyes and smiles. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Hi.” I whisper. I’m off today and he has to leave by 8:30 to get downtown to work. I desperately want to eat…
We start waking up a little more. He asks me when our first date was.
“February first.”
“So it’s been a month. How are you feeling about all of this?”
I nod. “Good. You?”
He nods. “Good.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Just curious.”
We stare at each other. His phone beeps with a text message. He reads it and puts the phone down.
“I need to get into the shower.” he tells me.
I jump up exclaiming that I need to eat before drinking coffee. I can’t sit still. I can’t handle the intensity at which he’s observing me.
While he’s in the shower, I inhale my oatmeal trying to finish it before he’s done. I feel badly for not tasting it, for not taking my time, for requiring it like I do, for my fear of being seen while eating and for wanting it so badly.
Jeff went to El Salvador for work a couple of weeks ago. He brought back a small cup from a “cupping” he had to do while he was down there. It’s a fabulous little thing and I’m happy to have it. I fell asleep the night before last with it next to me because after I chose to eat granola out of stress and irritation from work, I passed out. He found it while we were getting ready for bed last night and I dodged his questioning about why it was there saying I’d explain it later. As we’re walking out the door this morning he brings it up again. I tell him I don’t want to talk about it. I’m surprised at myself because I’ve been so honest with him and now I’m shutting off? What is that?
We walk outside. I inhale, exhale and decide the only way I can change is to actually… well, change and that will mean actually talking. I tell him about the granola incident.
“That wasn’t so bad.” he says. “I mean, I don’t think so.”
“To other people, it may not be but for me it’s huge.”
He nods.
I am still so deeply embarrassed about my eating disorder that it’s excruciating to talk about it’s details sometimes. I hate the fact that I’m not “normal” with or around food, that I can’t have certain things in my house, that I can’t eat at certain restaurants, that I tend to obsess over sugar and know it’s in my best interest to not go near it. I also hate feeling like I have to explain myself when in the company of other people. My explanations are subject to judgment and I’d rather not go there.
We get downtown to Intelligentsia and Jeff starts work while I write for a while. He smiles at me from behind the espresso machine. I can’t stand for him to admire me, to smile at me, to want me. I don’t love me so how can I accept someone else’s love?
Later he comes over, hugs me and asks how I am. I try to be as honest as possible and not give him my usual “Good! Great! Everything’s awesome!”
“I don’t know. Irritated.”
I’m not present, not settled, my brain feels scrambled, and I’m insanely self conscious. I’m unable to let anything simply be. I’m pressuring myself to do a million things. I feel I need to write a novel today, get to the gym, run, be perfect in all aspects of my life but of course, like every human on this planet, I fall short of perfection. I know this yet I have this insatiable desire to continue to strive for it. I wonder what would happen if perfection could be achieved? I think that even then I’d be unsatisfied. My co-worker George asked me one day while sitting in the office at work “What happens when the dog gets the car?”
I laughed imagining how some dogs will tear after a car, something that is insanely larger than it is and…then what?
Yup. What happens when the human finally reaches happiness? Would I even know if I found it? Maybe it’s an illusion I chase after to avoid finding the happiness in the moment I’m sitting in currently? The only moment I’ll ever have is this one, until the next one…
I leave Intelligentsia and head to Whole Foods in the South Loop. I buy my usual groceries and head back home.
Later I’m headed out again to meet up with my friend Lydia for dinner. I’m still not feeling completely fabulous. It’s everything I’ve got not to cancel. I want to see her, I do, I’m just wrapped up in my head. As I’m waiting for people to exit the Clark bus, I watch a man step down on to the pavement and exclaim to a lady next to me so loudly that I almost jump out of my skin, “I LOVE YOU!” I smile to myself and get on the bus.
Dinner was good and it was wonderful to see my friend. Lydia is one of my favorite people. I still wasn’t completely grounded or present though and didn’t share much with her at all, just listened. It’s so much easier for me to simply sit and listen than it is to actually share something.
I don’t feel like waiting on the bus. I remember walking all the way downtown from this area when Shannon came to visit. I start moving. I walk and walk until I find a cupcake shop that’s…open. Without even thinking I’m pushing open the door, walking up to the counter, ordering, paying, eating.
My brain sparks on it’s sugar induced high. I don’t remember the last time I had a cupcake and this isn’t the direction I’d like to go in. I’ve checked out completely, unable to think, to make a decision, to move. I want another one once that one is finished. I want to sit in a coma, licking icing off my fingers forever and ever.
Not really. It’s inviting, the warm blanket of chocolate, butter, sugar, and cake, but it’s all an illusion. There’s no life in it, no happiness, nothing.
I catch the Clark bus back towards home. Once I’m there I drink water, text a friend from OA and try to be calm.
I pick up my journal from my time with Rob and read through a few entries. On those pages he’s still alive, we’re still physically together. At the time I was feeling all the crazy I’m currently feeling with Jeff. I’m sinking into a weird depression and eating too much yet again. It makes me cry. How is it that receiving someone else’s love sends me into a funk? Every. Time. This time though, I’m trying to fix it. I remember waiting to hear from Rob unable to breathe practically until he called, unable to live my life.
Jeff calls. I’m so afraid he’ll go away. Afraid everyone will. I’m afraid he’ll pick up on my neediness, afraid I’ll do something unattractive and he’ll disappear… but won’t that be his choice? Isn’t that something I can’t control? Is that my problem? I fear his leaving, can’t control what he does so I act out with food? Even though he’s given me no indication that he’s going anywhere? What sense does any of this make?
I contemplate telling him about the cupcake and eventually I do. He listens, saying nothing which makes me nervous but what do I expect? When I’m quiet he tells me thanks for sharing. Relief floods my overactive brain and I thank him for listening.
He has no idea how amazing it is for me to feel safe enough to tell him all of this. I already feel insane for my thoughts, my food and all the crazy that surrounds my life. Having him simply hear it makes it so much better.
I can’t actually believe he wants to hear it. He’s taken such interest in my life that it’s sometimes overwhelming. I can’t imagine that someone finds me interesting enough to want to know all of this.

The Grieving Ladybug...

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…

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…

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…