The next morning I’m up at six. I immediately, without giving it much thought, consume the last of some granola I made last week. I try to calm down, reminding myself that I have no need to rush or hurry through my day. I have no reason to eat compulsively either. Not that I ever did or do but it’s such a welcome relief that I forget about the chaos that ensues later on.
I feel numb and slightly panicky. I’m afraid of the influx of feelings that I most certainly will feel at some point. It’s all the stuff I’ve avoided, but really, I have no idea what that even looks like right now.
I head to Alliance like usual on Sunday mornings. I order a large Americano and like usual, I sit in the window, wanting to write but do nothing but stare at my blank screen wishing for something to happen. I can’t think. Everything is fragmented and nothing makes sense. I don’t feel the glorious relief I felt when Charlie and I broke up. I feel like I’m trying to force something, some sort of emotion. I’m sad and confused. Tears spring to my eyes but dry before spilling. I’m trying to be still and let whatever is going to come up and out happen. I’m reminding myself that my thoughts and feelings won’t destroy me and that even though I’ve hit a rough patch, ultimately, I’m ok.
Dr. M.’s words turn over in my head. “Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Just wait for the dust to settle and things will be a little more clear.”
After finishing my Americano and jotting down some of my fragmented thoughts, I leave to go for a run. I keep checking in with myself trying to narrow down what it is I want to do. I desperately want to inhabit my body and care for myself, acknowledge myself instead of escaping. I won’t be seeing Jeff today. There is no rush to speed through anything. Allowing myself to simply be and not shoot from point A to B is a comforting relief. My decision to leave though, doesn’t feel completely right. It doesn’t feel wrong though. For the first time in months I am calm and not scrambling to get to where ever he is. I’m still turning over in my head what exactly happened, what it means and how I can change in the future.
I run for an hour and a half. I don’t remember the last time I did that. I actually have the energy and desire to do so. It felt amazing and I didn’t want to go home and contemplated going longer. I decided against it when my body started slowing down.
Once home I get cleaned up and head out again for the Paper Source. I wanted to get some things for my jewelry. Earlier in the month a co-worker helped explain the retail side of things to me when it comes to soliciting to stores. I’ve got a spreadsheet typed up and now, I need folders, a “look book”, and price tags among other things. I wander the store, fingers tracing everything. Nothing else in the world matters right now, but…right now. Why can’t I always be this way? When does the serenity come to an end the crazy begins?
I find what I’m looking for and head out again. I want a waffle with Nutella at the Iguana café. While walking there, out of no where, tears pour out of me hard and fast. These crying spells are the weirdest I’ve ever had. I’m not thinking anything, they just happen. In no time, they’re drying up and I’m walking through the door to sit by a window, with pen, paper, orange juice and the best waffle my mouth has ever experienced.
Later, back at home, I have an email from Jeff. He’s wanting to know if everything is ok because our breaking up was so out of the blue for him. He was also wondering if I felt I could no longer talk to him.
I’m not sure. I’m really not sure about anything. I sigh and decide to respond when I have something coherent to say. That comes faster than expected when my phone rings and Jeff’s name is blinking across the screen. I pick up and minutes later he’s on his way so we can go to a park and talk.
Talk about what I’m not sure. He’s upset with me most definitely. I’m not sure what exactly we’ll accomplish but I’m willing to see.
“Hi!” I beam because it’s so easy when I see him upon opening the door half an hour later.
“Hi.” he adjusts his backpack and I step aside, letting him in.
We walk upstairs and into my apartment where he places his bag on the floor and I get my keys.
“You wanna go to Millennium Park, or go across the street?” I ask.
“Across the street is fine.”
It’s weird not kissing him hello, not holding his hand as we walk. I’m trying to breathe and be normal .
“So.” I begin as we sit across from each other in a corner of the small park across from my apartment. “Why are you mad at me?”
Kids are playing in the pool behind us, and I think there’s a softball game going on as well. The sun is bright and hot…
“Because you broke up with me.”
I nod and begin bumbling through an explanation of how I wanted this work but it doesn’t for me.
“So what I’m hearing is that you’re not into me.”
I sigh and explain that I’m still attracted to him. I still find him amazing, I just need to seriously be alone. I feel the stuff I need to work on is stuff I have to do on my own.
The conversation moves all over the place. It’s one of the most honest conversations I think I’ve had with someone that I’ve been involved with. I can see how closed off I’ve been. I see how much I kept from him. I see and understand his fears and thoughts as well, and I wonder why it’s all coming out now that our relationship no longer exists. Why couldn’t we just talk about all of this when we were together? Why can’t I give myself to someone who is so obviously available and who obviously loves me and all my parts?
“I still like you. I still want to date you.” he tells me. “I just don’t want to talk you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“You’re not.” I want to date him too. He feels I keep him at arm’s length. I feel I keep everyone there. I fear losing something that’s really good because of my issues with not being able to open up. Then again, is it who we are together that keeps me in this weirdness of being mostly, but not completely open? I don’t even think I know what completely open is.
It’s getting chilly outside as the sun is going down. We decide to get dinner after deciding to try and simply date each other. His hand finds mine as we walk to a new Indian place not far from my house. Sitting across from him I feel calm. I listen to his soft deep voice tell me stories over spicy vegetables and rice and think ok, I can do this. Baby steps…
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Tuesday...
It happened on a random Tuesday at the end of July. I woke up, eyes scanning my clock through blurry vision and thought “I have to leave. Now. I have to end this relationship.” I turned over on my back and stared at the ceiling investigating this feeling. “No. I’m being irrational.” I argue. I turn my head and let my eyes wander over Jeff’s sleeping face. “I’m not leaving.” I sigh and get out of bed.
For the past two weeks I’ve been completely insane. I’ve eaten myself into a frenzy, lost all interest in the gym and running, and have barely been able to fake a smile at work. Writing has also taken a back seat. I’ve fantasized about escaping. I immerse myself in lengthy day dreams of jumping ship, disappearing and starting over someplace out west like Seattle or even San Francisco. I imagine being tucked away in a tiny apartment, writing or making jewelry for a living. I imagine trolling around Europe’s winding cobblestone streets visiting coffee shop after coffee shop spending hours people watching and writing. The dream then switches to being in an open field of grass in Oak Park underneath a blue sky watching the white fluffy clouds pass me by.
Instead though I don’t acknowledge that I’m feeling anything. I bury all of this underneath muffins, cookies, “I’m fine’s” and “everything’s great’s”. I won’t let anyone in because I can’t even let myself in. I feel this mounting pressure sitting on my shoulders and I can’t get out from underneath it. It’s weight is moving into my lungs and constricting them to a point where I feel I can barely breathe.
“How are you?” Dr. M. asks as I follow her back to her office. It’s been a month since our last visit.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I’m not doing well.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.” she says as we sit opposite each other at her large desk. She’s introduced me to Dr. N. who will be replacing Dr. M. next month when she moves to Pennsylvania.
“I’m not sure. I’m eating way too much, work feels very strenuous and I’m just not sure about things with Jeff. I don’t know what to do.”
I feel I’m forcing myself to talk. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep…
Dr. M. listens and asks a few questions before going over some test results. She gives me another vitamin B12 shot. We discuss the plan for the next visit with Dr. N. and I leave.
A few weeks ago one of my co-workers was talking about her amazing therapist. This sparked various memories of conversations I’ve with other co-workers, friends and people from OA during my time here in Chicago about my possibly needing to go see one. I love Karen, but she’s in Atlanta. The phone works of course but I’d rather see someone face to face. I make an appointment to see Beth in Lakeview on August 2. I have no idea where to go with this, but I feel like I’m going in some direction and that feels ok for now.
Saturday rolls around and I feel I’m fit for a straightjacket. I can’t shake this feeling of needing to leave Jeff. I’ve abandoned my life yet again for a relationship. Nothing interests me anymore and I don’t know how to find the balance so, I want to run. I want to do away with the stressor that I can barely look at because I don’t want to see it. I go over in my mind what this will look like. I leave Jeff and then what? I can calm down and can breathe again which is all fine and good but what happens when someone else rolls around? I have a pattern and a habit here. Maybe I’ll be in a better place next time. Maybe I need to learn how to deal with it right now. Maybe I should tell Jeff. Maybe I should just leave because I don’t want to think about any of it. I miss myself.
I’m outside on my lunch break at the Unicorn with a mocha staring up at the sky mentally asking God for help.
“Tell me what to do. I have no idea. I can’t see anything except I am miserable and driving myself insane.”
Back at work, one of my favorite clients Breanne comes in. After hugs and squealing she asks what’s going on and if I’m still with Jeff as I shampoo her hair.
“Well…” I trail off. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can do this. I need to be alone. I need to figure some shit out and I feel I can’t do it while in a relationship. I feel stuck.”
“I suggest you tell him… now.” her face darkens. “That just happened to me. My boyfriend just out of the blue told me last week that he needed some time and space to himself. Tell. Jeff.”
Done and done. I guess that was all I needed because as I left work, I knew I was going to have to tell him as soon as humanly possible. I’ve felt dishonest the whole week walking around with this, wanting and pretending everything was ok. I feel he deserves so much more than me. I wish this could work. I want it to work but can’t see any way around it right now. Maybe in five years…
Jeff is working late. Then he get’s stuck really late. I remain awake though and when he arrives all smiles and smelling like coffee, I can barely look him in the face. We talk about work before he says “You wanted to chat?”
I nod in response. I texted him earlier saying I still wanted to see him even though he was getting out so late. I can’t find words. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m making a huge mistake or not. I do know that if I don’t take some time and be alone, then I’m going to explode into a million little pieces. If I am making a huge mistake I trust that God will have something else up his sleeve for me and if this isn’t a mistake then something else entirely different will happen.
Quietly I explain my growing depression, the fact that my hands won’t heal, my craziness surrounding my food and not being able to work like I want because it feels excruciating.
“I…don’t think I can be in a relationship.”
We’re holding hands, my fingers tracing his veins, his fingers going limp.
“Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”
The rest of the night is filled with who’s, what’s, why’s, and how’s before he decides that he’s going home. It’s well after 2am before I finally give into sleep.
For the past two weeks I’ve been completely insane. I’ve eaten myself into a frenzy, lost all interest in the gym and running, and have barely been able to fake a smile at work. Writing has also taken a back seat. I’ve fantasized about escaping. I immerse myself in lengthy day dreams of jumping ship, disappearing and starting over someplace out west like Seattle or even San Francisco. I imagine being tucked away in a tiny apartment, writing or making jewelry for a living. I imagine trolling around Europe’s winding cobblestone streets visiting coffee shop after coffee shop spending hours people watching and writing. The dream then switches to being in an open field of grass in Oak Park underneath a blue sky watching the white fluffy clouds pass me by.
Instead though I don’t acknowledge that I’m feeling anything. I bury all of this underneath muffins, cookies, “I’m fine’s” and “everything’s great’s”. I won’t let anyone in because I can’t even let myself in. I feel this mounting pressure sitting on my shoulders and I can’t get out from underneath it. It’s weight is moving into my lungs and constricting them to a point where I feel I can barely breathe.
“How are you?” Dr. M. asks as I follow her back to her office. It’s been a month since our last visit.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I’m not doing well.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.” she says as we sit opposite each other at her large desk. She’s introduced me to Dr. N. who will be replacing Dr. M. next month when she moves to Pennsylvania.
“I’m not sure. I’m eating way too much, work feels very strenuous and I’m just not sure about things with Jeff. I don’t know what to do.”
I feel I’m forcing myself to talk. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep…
Dr. M. listens and asks a few questions before going over some test results. She gives me another vitamin B12 shot. We discuss the plan for the next visit with Dr. N. and I leave.
A few weeks ago one of my co-workers was talking about her amazing therapist. This sparked various memories of conversations I’ve with other co-workers, friends and people from OA during my time here in Chicago about my possibly needing to go see one. I love Karen, but she’s in Atlanta. The phone works of course but I’d rather see someone face to face. I make an appointment to see Beth in Lakeview on August 2. I have no idea where to go with this, but I feel like I’m going in some direction and that feels ok for now.
Saturday rolls around and I feel I’m fit for a straightjacket. I can’t shake this feeling of needing to leave Jeff. I’ve abandoned my life yet again for a relationship. Nothing interests me anymore and I don’t know how to find the balance so, I want to run. I want to do away with the stressor that I can barely look at because I don’t want to see it. I go over in my mind what this will look like. I leave Jeff and then what? I can calm down and can breathe again which is all fine and good but what happens when someone else rolls around? I have a pattern and a habit here. Maybe I’ll be in a better place next time. Maybe I need to learn how to deal with it right now. Maybe I should tell Jeff. Maybe I should just leave because I don’t want to think about any of it. I miss myself.
I’m outside on my lunch break at the Unicorn with a mocha staring up at the sky mentally asking God for help.
“Tell me what to do. I have no idea. I can’t see anything except I am miserable and driving myself insane.”
Back at work, one of my favorite clients Breanne comes in. After hugs and squealing she asks what’s going on and if I’m still with Jeff as I shampoo her hair.
“Well…” I trail off. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can do this. I need to be alone. I need to figure some shit out and I feel I can’t do it while in a relationship. I feel stuck.”
“I suggest you tell him… now.” her face darkens. “That just happened to me. My boyfriend just out of the blue told me last week that he needed some time and space to himself. Tell. Jeff.”
Done and done. I guess that was all I needed because as I left work, I knew I was going to have to tell him as soon as humanly possible. I’ve felt dishonest the whole week walking around with this, wanting and pretending everything was ok. I feel he deserves so much more than me. I wish this could work. I want it to work but can’t see any way around it right now. Maybe in five years…
Jeff is working late. Then he get’s stuck really late. I remain awake though and when he arrives all smiles and smelling like coffee, I can barely look him in the face. We talk about work before he says “You wanted to chat?”
I nod in response. I texted him earlier saying I still wanted to see him even though he was getting out so late. I can’t find words. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m making a huge mistake or not. I do know that if I don’t take some time and be alone, then I’m going to explode into a million little pieces. If I am making a huge mistake I trust that God will have something else up his sleeve for me and if this isn’t a mistake then something else entirely different will happen.
Quietly I explain my growing depression, the fact that my hands won’t heal, my craziness surrounding my food and not being able to work like I want because it feels excruciating.
“I…don’t think I can be in a relationship.”
We’re holding hands, my fingers tracing his veins, his fingers going limp.
“Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”
The rest of the night is filled with who’s, what’s, why’s, and how’s before he decides that he’s going home. It’s well after 2am before I finally give into sleep.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Nature Lady...
I woke up this morning feeling anxious. I’m going to see Dr. M., the naturopathic doctor. It’s been a month since I’ve seen Dr. R. and while I’m excited to meet Dr. M., I’m really nervous because I have no idea what to expect. I’ve never done this before.
I go downtown to Intelligentsia to write and see Jeff as he’s opening this morning. It’s good to see him. I don’t stay long before jumping in a cab and heading over to the same building I found myself a month earlier.
Dr. M. is lively and beautiful. Her energetic voice calls out my name as I’m sitting in the large waiting room staring at nothing in particular. I couldn’t even read I was so wound up.
“Ok.” she says, glancing at her laptop which is propped open on her desk. I’m seated across from her admiring her long dark hair. “Let’s talk about PMS and constipation.”
Oh my. No foreplay with this one. I immediately start laughing.
“Oh yeah!” she laughs with me. “I wanna get right down to it!”
I explain everything while she types my responses to the questions she’s firing at me. I notice and she does too that I’m mentioning stress a lot.
“Tell me about this stress.” she looks up from her screen.
I tell her my current stressor is my relationship. I tell her about meeting Jeff, but having a feeling that he’s not the one but.. I’m not willing to leave.
“I have a good relationship, which is why I’m still here. Nothing is really clear to me yet though.” I explain.
“After four months, you’re not going to just “know”. Not everyone has that “feeling” immediately. One day you’ll wake up and you’ll know. Either way, it’ll be clear to you.”
She tells me about how she met her husband. “He was my good friend and we lived in different states. I dated all sorts of people and had a great time. He moved to Illinois and we started dating. Our relationship is drama-free which made me question it. I was so used to feeling crazy that this felt weird because it was so calm. That‘s what it looked like for me. You‘re going to have to figure out what works for you.”
I agree with everything she’s saying. I’m calm with Jeff as well. He’s easy to be around and we have a good time. I can’t shake this feeling though. I want to. I want to be rid of it but it follows me around like a puppy nipping at my heels. Despite my kicking it, snapping at it, trying to escape it, it always finds me again, always nipping…
“Jeff is practically perfection.” I tell her.
“If that’s so then what’s the problem?”
“We’re insanely similar and I’m not sure if that’s going to work long term. I…”
Tears interrupt my words.
“Tell me.” she says.
I want to speak. I want to tell her but I can seem to get the air in my lungs. “…lost the love of my life, Rob, in a car accident.” I say as quickly as possible.
“I’m so sorry.” she says quietly.
I nod, still trying to breathe.
“Are you still in love with him?
Interesting question. Sure my twenty six year old self could be. “Of course I still love him but I don’t wish for another life.”
It’s excruciating to admit that.
“I’m…even though it was a horrible thing to have to go through, I’m glad for the experience because I can’t imagine my life any other way.”
“Are you holding back with Jeff?” Dr M. asks.
“Not entirely. I’ve been able to tell him what I need and want but I feel there is this part of me that is holding back, like there’s some sort of blockage that’s keeping me from moving forward with him. It’s definitely on a subconscious level though. It’s not a decision I’m consciously making.”
“You’re ok. Your relationship is ok and will be ok.” she reminds me. “You’re in a spot where you’re kind of on a fence. Either he’ll ask you to make a decision or you’ll make it yourself. Whatever decision you make you’ll have to commit to. You won’t be able to ride the fence forever.”
True…
“How has your grieving been?”
“I feel it was one of the most healthy times in my life. I cried, I talked to people, I wrote and ran. I didn’t hold anything back and was able to accept the love that people so freely gave. It’s not so much like that now. I keep a lot of it to myself.”
“Ok. I’m going to give you two homeopathic remedies and another supplement to add to what Dr. R has already suggested and a B12 shot.”
I nod as if I know what she’s talking about.
“So. The first one is to help you move through your grief. It’s going to help you experience it and move through any residual stuff that may be there. Also I’m going to give you another one for boundary setting. It’s going to help you find your “voice” and make things a little more clear for you and help you let go and do what’s right for you.”
“Deal!” I beam.
“I’ll be back.” she tells me and leaves for a few minutes, then returning with a clear liquid in a plastic cup and a syringe.
“I want you to sip this. It should be only two sips but let it sit on your tongue for a sec before swallowing.”
I nod, reaching for the cup and following her instructions. It tastes like sugar water. After she injects my hip with B12 we talk about my diet which I hate because I have to explain my compulsive eating and what I eat when I’m not being compulsive and what I eat when I am.
She gives me a list of instructions. I’m trying not to be resistant. I’ll do what she says, I’m just nervous.
When I leave I feel desperate to write, to talk to Jeff, but also just let all of this sink in before doing anything. I walk to a mall on Michigan Ave and get Jeff some peanut butter truffles. I go back to Intelligentsia to write a little bit while he’s finishing up with work. We decide to eat sushi for lunch. I feel much better now than I did this morning.
“How was the doctor?” he asks while we’re walking.
“So good! I’ll tell you about it after we order food though. I hate trying to say a bunch of stuff while walking or being interrupted.”
“Ok, just be warned that I’m really tired and need a nap but I want to give you my full attention.”
“I know, and that crossed my mind. I thought about telling you all of this after you’ve slept some.”
A teeny bit of me wants to hold on to this experience with Dr. M. and not share it. It feels too emotional for some reason and would be easier to just swallow and digest it on my own.
When we’re seated across from each other though, I’m swallowing spicy tuna rolls and he’s telling me about his morning at work.
“Wanna go to the park?” he asks as we finish up.
“Yup!”
It’s bright and a gorgeous sixty seven degrees outside. We lay out in front of the amphitheater at Millennium Park. Everyone else has gotten the same idea as we’re surrounded by people playing Frisbee, eating, napping, running around etc.
Jeff asks me a question and I answer it but he doesn’t hear me because he’s gotten distracted by something. I’m getting aggravated. I’m still holding on to everything I want to say about this morning, sitting on it because I’m waiting for the “perfect” time to tell him. Except there is no perfect time. There is now and there is later.
My phone lights up with a text from one of my sponsees from OA. We’ll call her Stacy. She confesses that she’s been night eating because she’s in so much emotional pain and she’s not sharing it with people. She’s terrified to share the dark parts of her life because she’s afraid people will leave her.
God has impeccable timing doesn’t He?
I have to get over myself and text her back explaining that no matter what, she has to say it. She has to get it out. Why can’t I follow my own advice?
As I text her back I’m thinking “What is it that we’re wanting from people?” What does the perfect situation look like when we want to share things, and get stuff off our chests? I feel with Jeff, I have it. He wants to listen. I believe he’s there for me but then again, I don’t totally open up. I now have to ask myself, “Is it me, or what? Do I have trouble with my words and past issues because I’m not accepting of myself? I feel I’ll never be able to accept someone else’s love because I don’t accept me. It’s like nothing will ever be good enough because I can’t give myself enough love, acceptance or space to simply be and have all my feelings. When I think about the perfect situation it involves lots of listening and understanding when I’m rehashing details from whatever is on my mind. I still don’t feel satisfied though. Again I think it’s because I don’t believe I’m worth anything and don’t feel entitled to having feelings and so when I do, I don’t give them any acknowledgment.
“How are you doing?” Jeff asks on our way to the train.
I don’t give him a straight answer. I explain Stacy and how her texts are taking words right out of my brain, that we’re both having trouble talking.
By the time we get to my apartment I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. I forgot that I have an appointment to get waxed by Jenifer at the Ruby Room at five. (I so love this girl!) I don’t want to go. I want to write. Hell I don’t even want to talk anymore.
Jeff is sitting on my couch telling me he’d like to talk.
“I’m taking a shower.” I announce, thinking I’ll feel better afterward.
Not so much. I’m simply unwilling now and feeling awfully silly about the whole thing. We’re on the couch when I explain that I don’t want to share anymore.
“I’ve been holding it in all day which I realize is my choice but I don’t even want to talk about it now. I‘d rather just write.”
“I still want to listen to you but maybe it’ll be better if you write while I take a nap.” he says.
“OK.”
I go to Lovely and he goes home. Writing is good. I think about Jenifer on my way to see her an hour later. It’s really hard to be a client sometimes. I’m always in work mode, asking a million questions to avoid sharing myself. I decide not to be the service provider but the client today. I’ll tell her whatever I want and will do my best to be ok with it.
“Hi Melissa! Come on back!” Jenifer smiles upon my entering the salon. She shows me into her room and leaves while I remove clothing from my lower half and lay on my back on her table. I stare at a picture on the wall of a dandelion. My fingers find my stomach and push at the knots that inhabit it. Something inside my mind lets go and the tears come. I see in this moment that I haven’t been giving myself room to acknowledge how I feel. I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling but it’s something. A teeny space has opened up to reveal that my constant anger is compensating for something else. What it is, I don’t know. Maybe I do and I just don’t want to admit it.
The door opens and Jenifer walks in just as I had dried my eyes. She looks at me a second longer than usual as if to asses my situation but says nothing.
Our chatting soon starts up though beginning with work. When we get quiet again I relay the events of today to her.
“I don’t know why I don’t want to talk to Jeff about it anymore! It’s like a switch flipped or something.”
She explains it perfect when she says “You were excited when you were excited. Now you’re frustrated because you couldn’t express it when you wanted to.”
“Exactly!” I squeal. “I still don’t want to tell him and I may never tell him, or maybe I will tomorrow. Who knows but even if I tell him, I’m still gonna be pissed.”
“Of course. It won’t be satisfying.”
“Yes!”
“Just wait until you’re ready.”
When I finish with Jenifer I go to Alliance and continue writing. I’ve heard nothing from Jeff and I’m getting hungry. I go get sushi again. Once I’m home I text him.
“I assume I won’t see you tonight.”
This starts a dialogue with him replying saying that he thought I may want more time to write and me responding with I just wanted a more concrete plan regardless.
He calls and we start talking about where we’re each coming from. He felt repelled by me. I got tired of waiting to say stuff to him. We rehash the events of today, breaking it all down. I feel tears threatening again an hour later for reasons I can’t even understand. I blink them back.
Another half an hour later we’re off the phone and I’m eating chocolate. I don’t really want it. I just want to want it. After a few bites I put it away. It’s doing nothing for me.
I try to get still and find a definition for what it is I feel once I’m tucked into bed. I try to get to the place I entered while on Jenifer’s table. I fall asleep though, never getting there.
I go downtown to Intelligentsia to write and see Jeff as he’s opening this morning. It’s good to see him. I don’t stay long before jumping in a cab and heading over to the same building I found myself a month earlier.
Dr. M. is lively and beautiful. Her energetic voice calls out my name as I’m sitting in the large waiting room staring at nothing in particular. I couldn’t even read I was so wound up.
“Ok.” she says, glancing at her laptop which is propped open on her desk. I’m seated across from her admiring her long dark hair. “Let’s talk about PMS and constipation.”
Oh my. No foreplay with this one. I immediately start laughing.
“Oh yeah!” she laughs with me. “I wanna get right down to it!”
I explain everything while she types my responses to the questions she’s firing at me. I notice and she does too that I’m mentioning stress a lot.
“Tell me about this stress.” she looks up from her screen.
I tell her my current stressor is my relationship. I tell her about meeting Jeff, but having a feeling that he’s not the one but.. I’m not willing to leave.
“I have a good relationship, which is why I’m still here. Nothing is really clear to me yet though.” I explain.
“After four months, you’re not going to just “know”. Not everyone has that “feeling” immediately. One day you’ll wake up and you’ll know. Either way, it’ll be clear to you.”
She tells me about how she met her husband. “He was my good friend and we lived in different states. I dated all sorts of people and had a great time. He moved to Illinois and we started dating. Our relationship is drama-free which made me question it. I was so used to feeling crazy that this felt weird because it was so calm. That‘s what it looked like for me. You‘re going to have to figure out what works for you.”
I agree with everything she’s saying. I’m calm with Jeff as well. He’s easy to be around and we have a good time. I can’t shake this feeling though. I want to. I want to be rid of it but it follows me around like a puppy nipping at my heels. Despite my kicking it, snapping at it, trying to escape it, it always finds me again, always nipping…
“Jeff is practically perfection.” I tell her.
“If that’s so then what’s the problem?”
“We’re insanely similar and I’m not sure if that’s going to work long term. I…”
Tears interrupt my words.
“Tell me.” she says.
I want to speak. I want to tell her but I can seem to get the air in my lungs. “…lost the love of my life, Rob, in a car accident.” I say as quickly as possible.
“I’m so sorry.” she says quietly.
I nod, still trying to breathe.
“Are you still in love with him?
Interesting question. Sure my twenty six year old self could be. “Of course I still love him but I don’t wish for another life.”
It’s excruciating to admit that.
“I’m…even though it was a horrible thing to have to go through, I’m glad for the experience because I can’t imagine my life any other way.”
“Are you holding back with Jeff?” Dr M. asks.
“Not entirely. I’ve been able to tell him what I need and want but I feel there is this part of me that is holding back, like there’s some sort of blockage that’s keeping me from moving forward with him. It’s definitely on a subconscious level though. It’s not a decision I’m consciously making.”
“You’re ok. Your relationship is ok and will be ok.” she reminds me. “You’re in a spot where you’re kind of on a fence. Either he’ll ask you to make a decision or you’ll make it yourself. Whatever decision you make you’ll have to commit to. You won’t be able to ride the fence forever.”
True…
“How has your grieving been?”
“I feel it was one of the most healthy times in my life. I cried, I talked to people, I wrote and ran. I didn’t hold anything back and was able to accept the love that people so freely gave. It’s not so much like that now. I keep a lot of it to myself.”
“Ok. I’m going to give you two homeopathic remedies and another supplement to add to what Dr. R has already suggested and a B12 shot.”
I nod as if I know what she’s talking about.
“So. The first one is to help you move through your grief. It’s going to help you experience it and move through any residual stuff that may be there. Also I’m going to give you another one for boundary setting. It’s going to help you find your “voice” and make things a little more clear for you and help you let go and do what’s right for you.”
“Deal!” I beam.
“I’ll be back.” she tells me and leaves for a few minutes, then returning with a clear liquid in a plastic cup and a syringe.
“I want you to sip this. It should be only two sips but let it sit on your tongue for a sec before swallowing.”
I nod, reaching for the cup and following her instructions. It tastes like sugar water. After she injects my hip with B12 we talk about my diet which I hate because I have to explain my compulsive eating and what I eat when I’m not being compulsive and what I eat when I am.
She gives me a list of instructions. I’m trying not to be resistant. I’ll do what she says, I’m just nervous.
When I leave I feel desperate to write, to talk to Jeff, but also just let all of this sink in before doing anything. I walk to a mall on Michigan Ave and get Jeff some peanut butter truffles. I go back to Intelligentsia to write a little bit while he’s finishing up with work. We decide to eat sushi for lunch. I feel much better now than I did this morning.
“How was the doctor?” he asks while we’re walking.
“So good! I’ll tell you about it after we order food though. I hate trying to say a bunch of stuff while walking or being interrupted.”
“Ok, just be warned that I’m really tired and need a nap but I want to give you my full attention.”
“I know, and that crossed my mind. I thought about telling you all of this after you’ve slept some.”
A teeny bit of me wants to hold on to this experience with Dr. M. and not share it. It feels too emotional for some reason and would be easier to just swallow and digest it on my own.
When we’re seated across from each other though, I’m swallowing spicy tuna rolls and he’s telling me about his morning at work.
“Wanna go to the park?” he asks as we finish up.
“Yup!”
It’s bright and a gorgeous sixty seven degrees outside. We lay out in front of the amphitheater at Millennium Park. Everyone else has gotten the same idea as we’re surrounded by people playing Frisbee, eating, napping, running around etc.
Jeff asks me a question and I answer it but he doesn’t hear me because he’s gotten distracted by something. I’m getting aggravated. I’m still holding on to everything I want to say about this morning, sitting on it because I’m waiting for the “perfect” time to tell him. Except there is no perfect time. There is now and there is later.
My phone lights up with a text from one of my sponsees from OA. We’ll call her Stacy. She confesses that she’s been night eating because she’s in so much emotional pain and she’s not sharing it with people. She’s terrified to share the dark parts of her life because she’s afraid people will leave her.
God has impeccable timing doesn’t He?
I have to get over myself and text her back explaining that no matter what, she has to say it. She has to get it out. Why can’t I follow my own advice?
As I text her back I’m thinking “What is it that we’re wanting from people?” What does the perfect situation look like when we want to share things, and get stuff off our chests? I feel with Jeff, I have it. He wants to listen. I believe he’s there for me but then again, I don’t totally open up. I now have to ask myself, “Is it me, or what? Do I have trouble with my words and past issues because I’m not accepting of myself? I feel I’ll never be able to accept someone else’s love because I don’t accept me. It’s like nothing will ever be good enough because I can’t give myself enough love, acceptance or space to simply be and have all my feelings. When I think about the perfect situation it involves lots of listening and understanding when I’m rehashing details from whatever is on my mind. I still don’t feel satisfied though. Again I think it’s because I don’t believe I’m worth anything and don’t feel entitled to having feelings and so when I do, I don’t give them any acknowledgment.
“How are you doing?” Jeff asks on our way to the train.
I don’t give him a straight answer. I explain Stacy and how her texts are taking words right out of my brain, that we’re both having trouble talking.
By the time we get to my apartment I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. I forgot that I have an appointment to get waxed by Jenifer at the Ruby Room at five. (I so love this girl!) I don’t want to go. I want to write. Hell I don’t even want to talk anymore.
Jeff is sitting on my couch telling me he’d like to talk.
“I’m taking a shower.” I announce, thinking I’ll feel better afterward.
Not so much. I’m simply unwilling now and feeling awfully silly about the whole thing. We’re on the couch when I explain that I don’t want to share anymore.
“I’ve been holding it in all day which I realize is my choice but I don’t even want to talk about it now. I‘d rather just write.”
“I still want to listen to you but maybe it’ll be better if you write while I take a nap.” he says.
“OK.”
I go to Lovely and he goes home. Writing is good. I think about Jenifer on my way to see her an hour later. It’s really hard to be a client sometimes. I’m always in work mode, asking a million questions to avoid sharing myself. I decide not to be the service provider but the client today. I’ll tell her whatever I want and will do my best to be ok with it.
“Hi Melissa! Come on back!” Jenifer smiles upon my entering the salon. She shows me into her room and leaves while I remove clothing from my lower half and lay on my back on her table. I stare at a picture on the wall of a dandelion. My fingers find my stomach and push at the knots that inhabit it. Something inside my mind lets go and the tears come. I see in this moment that I haven’t been giving myself room to acknowledge how I feel. I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling but it’s something. A teeny space has opened up to reveal that my constant anger is compensating for something else. What it is, I don’t know. Maybe I do and I just don’t want to admit it.
The door opens and Jenifer walks in just as I had dried my eyes. She looks at me a second longer than usual as if to asses my situation but says nothing.
Our chatting soon starts up though beginning with work. When we get quiet again I relay the events of today to her.
“I don’t know why I don’t want to talk to Jeff about it anymore! It’s like a switch flipped or something.”
She explains it perfect when she says “You were excited when you were excited. Now you’re frustrated because you couldn’t express it when you wanted to.”
“Exactly!” I squeal. “I still don’t want to tell him and I may never tell him, or maybe I will tomorrow. Who knows but even if I tell him, I’m still gonna be pissed.”
“Of course. It won’t be satisfying.”
“Yes!”
“Just wait until you’re ready.”
When I finish with Jenifer I go to Alliance and continue writing. I’ve heard nothing from Jeff and I’m getting hungry. I go get sushi again. Once I’m home I text him.
“I assume I won’t see you tonight.”
This starts a dialogue with him replying saying that he thought I may want more time to write and me responding with I just wanted a more concrete plan regardless.
He calls and we start talking about where we’re each coming from. He felt repelled by me. I got tired of waiting to say stuff to him. We rehash the events of today, breaking it all down. I feel tears threatening again an hour later for reasons I can’t even understand. I blink them back.
Another half an hour later we’re off the phone and I’m eating chocolate. I don’t really want it. I just want to want it. After a few bites I put it away. It’s doing nothing for me.
I try to get still and find a definition for what it is I feel once I’m tucked into bed. I try to get to the place I entered while on Jenifer’s table. I fall asleep though, never getting there.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Doctor...
I was in the break room a few weeks ago listening to two of my co-workers gush about their experience with an M.D. who also practices a more holistic approach to traditional medicine and perked up. When I asked who she was and where she was located my co-worker immediately gave me her name and address. She’s conveniently located downtown and takes our insurance thank God.
It didn’t take long for me to make an appointment. Nothing is particularly wrong, I just haven’t been to see anyone in a long time. My co-workers confessed to being emotional during their visits. Apparently this isn’t like your typical visit to the doctor. This woman, Dr. R. really listens and is actually interested in her patient’s emotional well being as well as the physical stuff. I have to admit I was most looking forward to a safe place to let go and cry if need be. I wasn’t sure if I’d keep the happy face on for her if I’d let go and see what would happen.
I question these thoughts. Why can’t I just cry when I need to, or say what I want? I can’t even cry in my usual spots right now. Not on Division, or Milwaukee Ave. Not in the shower or in the Evanston bathroom. Nothing. Yet the urge is there. The skin on my fingers are weeping enough with my aggravated dermatitis. Some stubborn, hateful part of me is hanging on to every tear I’d like to unleash.
On May 5th I woke up early, got dressed and decided to be fancy and take a cab to the enormous building just a few blocks from Michigan Ave.
My head is a little light as I didn’t eat this morning because of the lab work that would happen later. I stopped at Argo Tea for some chamomile and wrote for a bit before walking back, entering the massive building and taking the elevator to the fifth floor. I walk into a large beautifully decorated waiting room and the tell the girl behind the large desk that I’m here to see Dr. R., and she tells me to have a seat.
A few minutes later I’m being called back into another office by a woman who handles all the insurance and payment.
“I love your hot pink bag!” she exclaims as I sit down across from he at her desk.
“Thank you!” I laugh. Everyone loves my hot pink Hello Kitty bag.
“You have your paper work right?” she asks.
“I do.” I reach into the bag and produce a stack of papers I printed earlier in the week containing the answers to many many questions about my medical history and current conditions. One question in particular had tears stinging my eyes. It was “Do you use substances ( caffeine, alcohol…) to deal with every day stress?
Caffeine. Yes. I hate that I do this to myself. Sure one cup of coffee isn’t horrible, but the atrocious amount I’m currently consuming is not ok. The reason why I do it is also not ok. I want to stay up, elevated, lifted. That’s not something I can sustain without a lil help…
Once my information is saved in the computer, co-pay taken, I am introduced to Dr. R.
“Come on back!” she smiles warmly at me and I follow her into her office where she invites me to have a seat, complimenting my bag. Hehe.
We briefly discuss my employment, stress, dermatitis, Jeff, exercise, food and my eating disorder before bringing the topic of discussion back to work.
“Who says we have to stick to one career for the rest of our lives?” she asks.
I laugh and agree. I have this idea that I can’t be anything else right now though. I think I’m unwilling really. I’m just wanting to enjoy what I have for now before figuring anything else out.
“What other stressors are in your life?’ she asks.
I’m tempted to say nothing, that what I’ve already stated is enough but…that would be a lie.
“Um…” I exhale and my eyes flood. I can’t speak.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I lost the love of my life in a car accident two years ago.” I say as quickly as possible just to get it out of my head.
“I’m so sorry.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’m having a tough time moving through the grief. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the past two years but I can’t stand the fact that I’m still hurting and no idea what to do in my current relationship.”
“Do you feel him?” she asks.
“Yes.” I smile. “I never share that because I feel crazy!”
“It’s real though and it’s so great to have that guide. Our relationships never end no matter where we go.”
She tells me about losing her grandmother and says she still feels her around. She also tells me that thirteen years ago she gave birth to twin boys and one didn’t make it.
“He’s with me every day though, guiding me.”
“How do you know?” I ask, wondering what she feels.
“I just feel him. I know here’s there.” she explains.
I nod knowing good and well there’s no way to explain it. I feel Rob differently now than I used to. Right after he died I felt his hand was always on the back of my shoulder. I don’t really feel that anymore. It’s more of a “knowing” on some level that he’s still with me.
“Rob is your point of reference.” she reminds me. “He’s your guide for all your relationships. If something is lacking then it’s time to let go.”
I’m happy to hear her say this. I feel it in my gut, I just don’t talk about it…this reference thing. It’s not that I want what I had as I knew it, because I’m different now, it’s just that I don’t want anything less.
“It’s all about the journey.” she smiles.
I wish I could remember that always. I’m all about the destination forgetting to smell the flowers, feel my feet in grass and look up at the sunshine, or even feel the rain on my face along the way to where ever it is I’m going.
I’m going to refer you to a naturopathic doctor. Her name is Dr. M. and she’ll talk to you more about hormonal and emotional balancing.
I nod. I’m up for anything at this point.
“Come with me, I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
I follow her into an exam room. My blood pressure is low.
“More water and less caffeine.” she instructs as she unleashes my arms from the cuff.
She lists a variety of supplements I’m to take starting as soon as possible before sending me off to the lab for blood work. I’m committed to trying it but I’m wondering what the point of it all is. Did God intend for us to take such things?
I. Hate. Blood. Work. Tattoo me all day but stick one needle directly into a vein and I want to get violent. My blood moves slower than molasses and I’m trying to breathe through the experience.
“I like your bag!” the technician tells me and I laugh thanking her.
Later, once I’m needle-free and released out into the world, I’ve purchased some supplements, made an appointment to see Dr. M. soon and am calling Jeff. We agree to meet at the Grand redline.
My head is spinning. I’m trying to let everything sink in plus squash the desire to vomit the whole experience on him. I want to write about it first but I’m also wanting to simply be in his presence, feeling like I need him to ground me a bit as I don’t know how to identify my feelings and that feels scary.
“Hi!” I hug and kiss him when we meet on the corner, both of us starving and not sure what to eat. He’ll have to work later so we don’t want to get too far.
I’d like to try a little café on Ontario but he wants Thai. Ok. I’m starving and am trying not to care. I can go to the café some other day.
He asks about the doctor and I’m trying to explain but it’s hard because we’re walking trying to find our way and the streets are noisy. I don’t want to yell all of this.
We get seated at the restaurant near an open window. The music is blaring and I feel like I’m screaming at him. Frustration is building. I’m upset with myself for wanting to talk and tell him every last detail, my words getting tangled. Why do I have to talk? Why does it feel so good but completely ridiculous at the same time?
Both of us talk and talk and talk about relationships, past stuff and future stuff. I’m glad we can be so open with each other. I’m glad he’s willing to work through things. My main question is that when does work become “too much” work? When do you just have to throw in the towel and say “enough.”?
I overeat. Of course. I feel like I’m in a coma. Not because of the food but because of something else. Something I can’t identify. I start telling him about a crazy client I had last night. I can tell he’s distracted and I’m trying to be ok with it. I don’t really need to share this. I can tell it to my computer screen or my journal. Once we’re outside I stop talking all together. I feel I’m too much for people. I’m always going a mile a minute and I feel it wears people out. When I try to contain it though I feel that I’m not being a hundred percent true to myself. I feel I’m putting a lid on myself and if that continues I’ll explode like glass shattering, sending pieces flying out into the open air scraping everything around me.
Jeff and I walk down Michigan Ave and stop in a mall where I notice on the directory a Hello Kitty store is calling my name from one of the top floors.
“You wanna go in?” Jeff asks.
Yes.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I need to get paid first.” Which is a partial truth. I want to go, I just don’t want to subject him to the land of my squealing over everything pink and girly.
We stop at a café near Nordstrom’s and sit on a couch watching people walk by. We’re quiet. I don’t want to talk. I feel angry. Not at him but at myself, for eating too much, for not speaking up, for feeling like I was rambling. He tries to pull all of this out of me. I feel pressured to talk. I will eventually but not while the pressure that I’m feeling is closing in around me.
As I try to explain what I can he has to leave for work. I knew this and didn’t really want to launch into an in depth conversation right before he had to leave.
“Will you walk with me?” he asks.
Absolutely not. I want to scream. I tell him I’m going to go to the Hello Kitty store. (I couldn’t stop thinking about it!)
We say goodbye, kissing, before he leaves and I go upstairs. I am so angry! I have no idea why except that I didn’t speak up about lunch. It’s over and done with though. Why can’t I let it go?
I walk around the store feeling like I’m five again remembering all the times mom would take us to the mall, buying us a cookie from the Great American Cookie Company and letting us walk around the Hello Kitty store at Southlake mall. I want to be that little girl again sometimes. I want my mother’s warm hand holding mine. I want to lay my head somewhere and feel safe. Out here bumbling around, getting swept up in the strong current of my thoughts doesn’t feel safe or comforting but absolutely terrifying. I grasping for anything to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.
I leave the store empty handed. I exit the mall and enter the sea of people crowding Michigan Ave. I walk all the way to Clark and Lake then take the train home. I fall asleep for an hour on the couch then head out for a run.
Jeff texts me asking if I’m upset with him. I text him back saying I’m upset with myself and run through a green light. No response. After running I go to Whole Foods, get dinner and walk home where I make a necklace before falling asleep…
It didn’t take long for me to make an appointment. Nothing is particularly wrong, I just haven’t been to see anyone in a long time. My co-workers confessed to being emotional during their visits. Apparently this isn’t like your typical visit to the doctor. This woman, Dr. R. really listens and is actually interested in her patient’s emotional well being as well as the physical stuff. I have to admit I was most looking forward to a safe place to let go and cry if need be. I wasn’t sure if I’d keep the happy face on for her if I’d let go and see what would happen.
I question these thoughts. Why can’t I just cry when I need to, or say what I want? I can’t even cry in my usual spots right now. Not on Division, or Milwaukee Ave. Not in the shower or in the Evanston bathroom. Nothing. Yet the urge is there. The skin on my fingers are weeping enough with my aggravated dermatitis. Some stubborn, hateful part of me is hanging on to every tear I’d like to unleash.
On May 5th I woke up early, got dressed and decided to be fancy and take a cab to the enormous building just a few blocks from Michigan Ave.
My head is a little light as I didn’t eat this morning because of the lab work that would happen later. I stopped at Argo Tea for some chamomile and wrote for a bit before walking back, entering the massive building and taking the elevator to the fifth floor. I walk into a large beautifully decorated waiting room and the tell the girl behind the large desk that I’m here to see Dr. R., and she tells me to have a seat.
A few minutes later I’m being called back into another office by a woman who handles all the insurance and payment.
“I love your hot pink bag!” she exclaims as I sit down across from he at her desk.
“Thank you!” I laugh. Everyone loves my hot pink Hello Kitty bag.
“You have your paper work right?” she asks.
“I do.” I reach into the bag and produce a stack of papers I printed earlier in the week containing the answers to many many questions about my medical history and current conditions. One question in particular had tears stinging my eyes. It was “Do you use substances ( caffeine, alcohol…) to deal with every day stress?
Caffeine. Yes. I hate that I do this to myself. Sure one cup of coffee isn’t horrible, but the atrocious amount I’m currently consuming is not ok. The reason why I do it is also not ok. I want to stay up, elevated, lifted. That’s not something I can sustain without a lil help…
Once my information is saved in the computer, co-pay taken, I am introduced to Dr. R.
“Come on back!” she smiles warmly at me and I follow her into her office where she invites me to have a seat, complimenting my bag. Hehe.
We briefly discuss my employment, stress, dermatitis, Jeff, exercise, food and my eating disorder before bringing the topic of discussion back to work.
“Who says we have to stick to one career for the rest of our lives?” she asks.
I laugh and agree. I have this idea that I can’t be anything else right now though. I think I’m unwilling really. I’m just wanting to enjoy what I have for now before figuring anything else out.
“What other stressors are in your life?’ she asks.
I’m tempted to say nothing, that what I’ve already stated is enough but…that would be a lie.
“Um…” I exhale and my eyes flood. I can’t speak.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I lost the love of my life in a car accident two years ago.” I say as quickly as possible just to get it out of my head.
“I’m so sorry.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’m having a tough time moving through the grief. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the past two years but I can’t stand the fact that I’m still hurting and no idea what to do in my current relationship.”
“Do you feel him?” she asks.
“Yes.” I smile. “I never share that because I feel crazy!”
“It’s real though and it’s so great to have that guide. Our relationships never end no matter where we go.”
She tells me about losing her grandmother and says she still feels her around. She also tells me that thirteen years ago she gave birth to twin boys and one didn’t make it.
“He’s with me every day though, guiding me.”
“How do you know?” I ask, wondering what she feels.
“I just feel him. I know here’s there.” she explains.
I nod knowing good and well there’s no way to explain it. I feel Rob differently now than I used to. Right after he died I felt his hand was always on the back of my shoulder. I don’t really feel that anymore. It’s more of a “knowing” on some level that he’s still with me.
“Rob is your point of reference.” she reminds me. “He’s your guide for all your relationships. If something is lacking then it’s time to let go.”
I’m happy to hear her say this. I feel it in my gut, I just don’t talk about it…this reference thing. It’s not that I want what I had as I knew it, because I’m different now, it’s just that I don’t want anything less.
“It’s all about the journey.” she smiles.
I wish I could remember that always. I’m all about the destination forgetting to smell the flowers, feel my feet in grass and look up at the sunshine, or even feel the rain on my face along the way to where ever it is I’m going.
I’m going to refer you to a naturopathic doctor. Her name is Dr. M. and she’ll talk to you more about hormonal and emotional balancing.
I nod. I’m up for anything at this point.
“Come with me, I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
I follow her into an exam room. My blood pressure is low.
“More water and less caffeine.” she instructs as she unleashes my arms from the cuff.
She lists a variety of supplements I’m to take starting as soon as possible before sending me off to the lab for blood work. I’m committed to trying it but I’m wondering what the point of it all is. Did God intend for us to take such things?
I. Hate. Blood. Work. Tattoo me all day but stick one needle directly into a vein and I want to get violent. My blood moves slower than molasses and I’m trying to breathe through the experience.
“I like your bag!” the technician tells me and I laugh thanking her.
Later, once I’m needle-free and released out into the world, I’ve purchased some supplements, made an appointment to see Dr. M. soon and am calling Jeff. We agree to meet at the Grand redline.
My head is spinning. I’m trying to let everything sink in plus squash the desire to vomit the whole experience on him. I want to write about it first but I’m also wanting to simply be in his presence, feeling like I need him to ground me a bit as I don’t know how to identify my feelings and that feels scary.
“Hi!” I hug and kiss him when we meet on the corner, both of us starving and not sure what to eat. He’ll have to work later so we don’t want to get too far.
I’d like to try a little café on Ontario but he wants Thai. Ok. I’m starving and am trying not to care. I can go to the café some other day.
He asks about the doctor and I’m trying to explain but it’s hard because we’re walking trying to find our way and the streets are noisy. I don’t want to yell all of this.
We get seated at the restaurant near an open window. The music is blaring and I feel like I’m screaming at him. Frustration is building. I’m upset with myself for wanting to talk and tell him every last detail, my words getting tangled. Why do I have to talk? Why does it feel so good but completely ridiculous at the same time?
Both of us talk and talk and talk about relationships, past stuff and future stuff. I’m glad we can be so open with each other. I’m glad he’s willing to work through things. My main question is that when does work become “too much” work? When do you just have to throw in the towel and say “enough.”?
I overeat. Of course. I feel like I’m in a coma. Not because of the food but because of something else. Something I can’t identify. I start telling him about a crazy client I had last night. I can tell he’s distracted and I’m trying to be ok with it. I don’t really need to share this. I can tell it to my computer screen or my journal. Once we’re outside I stop talking all together. I feel I’m too much for people. I’m always going a mile a minute and I feel it wears people out. When I try to contain it though I feel that I’m not being a hundred percent true to myself. I feel I’m putting a lid on myself and if that continues I’ll explode like glass shattering, sending pieces flying out into the open air scraping everything around me.
Jeff and I walk down Michigan Ave and stop in a mall where I notice on the directory a Hello Kitty store is calling my name from one of the top floors.
“You wanna go in?” Jeff asks.
Yes.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I need to get paid first.” Which is a partial truth. I want to go, I just don’t want to subject him to the land of my squealing over everything pink and girly.
We stop at a café near Nordstrom’s and sit on a couch watching people walk by. We’re quiet. I don’t want to talk. I feel angry. Not at him but at myself, for eating too much, for not speaking up, for feeling like I was rambling. He tries to pull all of this out of me. I feel pressured to talk. I will eventually but not while the pressure that I’m feeling is closing in around me.
As I try to explain what I can he has to leave for work. I knew this and didn’t really want to launch into an in depth conversation right before he had to leave.
“Will you walk with me?” he asks.
Absolutely not. I want to scream. I tell him I’m going to go to the Hello Kitty store. (I couldn’t stop thinking about it!)
We say goodbye, kissing, before he leaves and I go upstairs. I am so angry! I have no idea why except that I didn’t speak up about lunch. It’s over and done with though. Why can’t I let it go?
I walk around the store feeling like I’m five again remembering all the times mom would take us to the mall, buying us a cookie from the Great American Cookie Company and letting us walk around the Hello Kitty store at Southlake mall. I want to be that little girl again sometimes. I want my mother’s warm hand holding mine. I want to lay my head somewhere and feel safe. Out here bumbling around, getting swept up in the strong current of my thoughts doesn’t feel safe or comforting but absolutely terrifying. I grasping for anything to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.
I leave the store empty handed. I exit the mall and enter the sea of people crowding Michigan Ave. I walk all the way to Clark and Lake then take the train home. I fall asleep for an hour on the couch then head out for a run.
Jeff texts me asking if I’m upset with him. I text him back saying I’m upset with myself and run through a green light. No response. After running I go to Whole Foods, get dinner and walk home where I make a necklace before falling asleep…
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
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.
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…
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.
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.
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