The Grieving Ladybug...

Work today is much calmer than yesterday. Thank God. Yesterday, even though it was tough, I made this old lady’s curling iron set my bitch, told a crazy chick that no, I was not cutting her bangs because the first thing she said to me when she sat in my chair was “Don’t touch my bangs.” and made some picky college girls happy with several long layered haircuts.
Today though, everyone was calm, including me. No one really had instructions for their hair, they just wanted it to look better. This frees my brain up to have it move as it wants, creating what I want within the boundaries that have been set upon meeting these people, such as “don’t cut it too short but I don’t mind a lot of layers” and the like.
I start feeling a little weird about my blog all the sudden after a few haircuts. My mind wanders to the Facebook friend request that I got from Jeff the day after we met. The link is attached to Facebook. Hmmm…I text him.
“Love, have you read any of my blog?”
He texts back, “Some of it. Not as much as I’d like to. I like the way you write. Do you mind?”
“Nope.” It’s not that I mind, I’m just nervous.
“I’ve read up to “Heart Shaped Cloud.” he texts.
I get online and log on to the blog, looking to see what he knows already. I was thinking about telling him about OA tonight. I’m starting to feel a little weird about food and feel that I need to explain, plus I want to share about my Wednesday night “mystery” plans. I scroll through the entries leading up to “Heart Shaped Cloud” and see that he does in fact know about OA. Oh damn. I wasn’t entirely expecting that.
“Hmmm. That’s the tough part.” a friend tells me when I unload all of this blog/OA mess on her. “You never know how they’re going to react. That’s their deal though. I know it’s tough. You just gotta do it, just gotta say it. Besides, he already knows and hasn’t gone running for the hills yet. I think you’re ok.”
I exhale. I think she’s right. It’s just the anticipation of talking about this that puts me on edge.
Work ends. I meet Jeff at the Belmont red line stop. Today is Valentine’s Day. We go to a Mexican place not far from the train. It’s not crazy but still busy. We’re seated next to a huge window.
After ordering I’m trying to figure out how to bring up this OA thing. He practically does it for me though when he mentions my blog again admitting to reading it on his breaks at work.
“So you’ve read up to Heart Shaped Cloud right?” I ask.
“Oh I’m done with 2008.” he grins.
I laugh and tell him I’m asking because I wanted to tell him some stuff and was curious as to how much he’s read.
“I started with your most recent one. “Closer” I think it is? Then decided to start at the beginning.”
“How long have you been reading it?” I ask.
“Since we became Facebook friends.”
Oh my.
“So I knew about Rob and everything.” he says.
I nod. “I realize my blog is very much public and it’s attached to my Facebook account but I was still taken aback when I saw what you’ve read so far.”
He laughs and I feel my skin heat up.
“So…you’ve already read about what I wanted to tell you.” I stare at the wall avoiding eye contact. “I can’t keep saying “Oh I have this “thing” to do every Wednesday night without eventually explaining it. I have a compulsive eating disorder.”
He nods. I exhale. “Substance Abuse?” he quotes the title of one of my blog entries.
“Yup.”
I go on to tell him about some of the people I’ve met here through OA, my experience with Charlie, and about some co-workers I’ve opened up to.
He listens until I’m quiet and asks if giving me cupcakes and candy if off limits.
“Yup.” Of course I want to eat all of it but know better.
Back at my apartment we’re cuddled up on my bed and I’m listening to him tell me things about his life. I devour his words, grateful for his ability to open up, his expression of his feelings and relaying of past events. This leads me to open up more to him. It’s scary but words leave my mouth, relaying more heavy stuff, and he hears them.
“You’ve been through a lot.” he says quietly.
I nod, not knowing what to do next.
“You’re a really strong person.”
I still feel really broken after all the crazy that’s happened. I hope I haven’t scared him…

Smattering of Ramblings...

It’s February tenth again. I’m off from work and trying to get comfortable. Nothing will ease my mind. Caffeine certainly isn’t helping. I want to go through my usual routine of running, the gym, coffee and writing but I’m unsettled. Nothing is interesting or feels worth doing today.
I try to write in my journal, try to write Jeff a letter but nothing is really coming out. I’m frustrated because I have the time to do whatever, to write and or say whatever and I can’t seem to get to a place where that’s possible.
Anger keeps everything in. It always does. I keeps me from expressing anything. It’s my “go-to” emotion. It’s the one that blankets everything else. I don’t know how to move past it.
I go to OA. It’s one of the only places where I can be wide open, totally honest and without fear. Sure I’m scared of what might come out of my mouth but I know it’ll be met with love. It feels safe to be here within these four walls. Not so much in the outside world. I actually wasn’t so much interested in going to a meeting. It’s cold, wet and gross outside. I went so I could express myself. It’s the only place I feel I can besides here or on paper and even then that’s questionable.
The tears come right after saying the obligatory “Hi, I’m Melissa and I’m a compulsive overeater.” I explain that I met Rob today, that he died in April and it’s all really tough. I talk about my gratitude for Jeff, how I feel so lucky to have him in my life, but I don’t know how to let him in. I don’t know how to tell him that I go to 12 Step meetings on top of all of my feelings of grief over Rob. Right now, I just say “I have plans tonight.” Eventually I believe that he’ll pick up on the pattern that I have these “plans” every Wed at the same time and start asking questions.
Of course like Rob, OA is a part of my life. I may not like it. I hate it in fact. I hate that I have to go to a support group because I manage my emotions with a substance but at least I have a place to go. I’m trying to see that with having Jeff in my life regardless of where it may go or what might happen, or how each of us may feel, I am to learn to open up, trust someone who is clearly there for me. I try to remind myself that it’s ok to let him in. With Rob I felt I should let him in, I felt I had to because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t get the opportunity again. With Jeff it’s I have to simply because I can. If he runs away, it’s his choice, but for me, I feel it most important to figure out how to be myself when with someone.
It’s not really Rob I need to talk about but his absence and what that means for me. I don’t even know what that is. I know it means I get really angry but am never able to really pinpoint why. I know I get insanely sad and I know I don’t know how to talk or express any of it. It’s not like my thought process goes “I wish Rob were here.” then that’s followed with me getting angry because he’s not. It’s these anniversaries that I don’t know what to do with. It’s not like I can celebrate with him the day that we met. I feel lost, aimlessly meandering looking for comfort, knowing that this awkwardness will pass but in the meantime it blows…

Push...

It’s…so….early…Jeff and I are both up and dressed, and stumbling around trying to get ready for work.
“How old are we?” he smiles.
“I know…” I laugh. Neither of us will bounce back as quickly as our 22 year old selves. I’m planning on crashing, shears in hand at 3:30pm. Right now, I feel pretty good.
I take the bus to the red line, then to the purple line all the way to Evanston. I’m nodding off like a narcoleptic on heroin trying desperately to stay awake long enough to get off at the right stop.
Oh work…good day, mildly irritating but everything went well despite my bumbling around in search of caffeine wishing I could sleep with my eyes open. Jeff and I text each other all day. He offers to come to Evanston to give me a shoulder to sleep on for the ride home. I want to curl up with some good food from the Chicago Diner, preferably with him before I pass out on him. I ask and he agrees, meeting me at the salon as I finish up.
We chat on the train all the way to the Diner. I’m still mildly irritated and am sure it’s from the lack of sleep and the long work day. I’m happy listening to him but feel I can’t contribute much.
There is lots of grinning and giggling over dinner. I feel my toes curling in my boots and I try to relax. I feel he can see into my soul and that’s a wee bit scary being I don’t think I’ve even seen what‘s in that place. I realize the curling of my toes is some sort of distraction to keep myself from being 100% present. I’ve done this for as long as I can remember. If it’s not my toes, it’s something else like playing with my hair, readjusting myself constantly in my chair, or reaching out to tickle him. I do it to break the intensity of the situation. I never want to sit still too long out of fear he might actually see me. Then what? He runs? Why would he? I don’t know. I’ve never really let anyone in. It feels too scary but I don’t know why or where I learned that it wasn’t ok to be myself. Last time I attempted it God decided he needed the boy with Him more than I did as I knew him here on earth.
Jeff delivers all sorts of sweetness. He tells me how pretty he thinks I am, he holds my hands and wants to share cake with me instead of asking “Are you going to eat that?” before discussing the substance’s caloric content. I want this delightful lovin‘. I do. I want to soak up all his kindness and sink into it but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to be still and allow myself to walk through life with a healthy available person who wants to spend time getting to know me.
What I do know is how to push away. A teeny little sliver of me is wanting just that. I can see it, feel it and I’m trying to kill it before it takes over and ruins any opportunity at something wonderful. If I don’t change now, if I don’t learn to open up, to accept the love another human being is willing to give I’ll never have a solid relationship. It’s so hard though to give all of myself when I can’t anticipate the outcome. I can’t see into the future which makes this unknown daunting. I look at work and how I knew assisting would be temporary. The goal was to learn through assisting and class then become a stylist again. I would have to complete a series of tasks to get there and I did. With a relationship, I only see a beginning. The unknown is what drives me insane.
What kind of sense does that even make though? Why am I not ok with sharing my life, my thoughts, and emotions? What and or who am I saving them for?
After dinner we head to my place. I listen to him tell me about his most recent ex girlfriend. This reminds me of Rob talking about his ex, Ginger. I don’t mind it. I’m surprised that I don’t mind it. I almost need it. I want to know every inch of him, his life, his thoughts, his wants, likes and dislikes.
I enjoy the tone of his voice, the feeling of his skin beneath my fingers and the blanket of comfort I feel in his presence. I feel like a delicate slice of cake that he’s carefully turning over and examining before consuming it with the utmost care. This I allow myself to open up to and feel to it’s entirety simply because I’ve craved it in a way I can’t explain.
Our chatting is sprinkled with kisses until we start to lose focus and fall asleep…

Salon Meeting Part 2...

“Hey Melissa? C’mere for a sec.” Amy, my assistant manager says to me after I set up my station. It’s early on Saturday morning and I’m already contemplating my second Americano. I walk over to her and she pulls me aside next to the washer and dryer near our break room.
“So I heard a rumor that you want to go to Wicker Park’s meeting next week.”
“Reeaally.” I reply remembering Shana and I weren’t the only two in the break room yesterday morning. “What did you hear?”
“Just that the tenth is when you met Rob and you’d like to have the day to yourself. It’s no problem. Just make sure you don’t miss Wicker Park’s because it’s a benefits meeting.”
Tears are waiting for permission to be released but I hold on tightly to them. “Thank you. I have a hard time with it and am not ok with being upset.” I confess.
“It’s ok. It’s all ok. Sometimes you don’t know how you’re going to feel. We’re here for you though. You can talk to us ok? Just let us know what you need.”
I wish it were that easy. I wish I could say to anyone “Hey, I need to talk, do you have a minute?” but I don’t let myself utter those words. I do however explain April 20th and ask to work on Thursday instead of that day.
“Sure, I’ll mark it off right now.”
I thank her again and walk out to get my first client.
I enjoy my day, my clients, their hair, their conversation but I’m exhausted when I’m done. I take the train home and instead of catching the bus, I decide to walk. Jeff and I are texting, both of us tired, neither of us wanting to be at either of our places. His roommates are having a party and things are tense between me and one of mine. Jeff and I decide to meet in Logan Square at New Wave coffee. I’ve been wanting to see this place for a while now.
It’s precious! We both get tea and sit next to each other at a small round table. We’re both very touchy-feely, grinning, all googly-eyed, and I’ve suddenly forgotten that I was ever tired.
“Tell me about your day.” he says rubbing the tops of my knees.
“Well, um, my clients were great. Uh, I’m just not feeling so good right now…” I can’t look him in the eye.
“You want to talk about it?”
I nod. “It’s hard. Um…” I trail off. The music is blaring and I don’t want to have to raise my voice. “I think I’m going to save it for when I don’t have to yell it to you.”
“Ok.” he nods and excuses himself to the bathroom. I go when we returns and lock myself into the tiny space and look around. Bright colored words and drawings fill the walls. Near the mirror I see the words “I love you” and “you’re beautiful” scrawled in pink ink. I smile to myself.
Jeff and I talk, laugh and tell stories until deciding to leave. We contemplate our apartments and decide to go to mine.
“My room’s a mess.” I giggle.
He says he doesn’t mind, but he hasn’t seen it yet. Hehe. The train doesn’t take us long and yes, as expected he’s surprised to see the aftermath of what looks like a tornado that tore through my little living space.
“No judging!” I exclaim as we plop onto my bed.
It would be in our best interest to sleep but what fun is that when there’s still so much to share and learn about this shiny new person in front of me.
We’re facing each other, laying on our sides when his fingertips begin to trail along the tops of my hands. I do my absolute best not to recoil and hide them out of fear he’ll think they’re gross. My dermatitis has been getting the better of me lately making my skin look a little mangled.
“I like your hands.” he tells me.
I chew on the inside of my face. “Say it.” I tell myself. “Come on…say thank you.”
“Thank you.” I reply and wait for the other shoe to drop, preparing for him to mention my skin. He doesn’t, so I do, explaining that I get nervous about people seeing them. “Sometimes I hide them and sometimes I don’t care. I try not to care more often than not, but it’s hard.”
“I still like them.” he says.
I smile and stare at them trying to simply be grateful that I have ten fingers that function despite the skin wanting to fall off.
He tells me that he finds it crazy that he’s here, that we’re hanging out and that it’s been so easy and that he’s been really open about the whole thing. I feel the same way. It’s scary, wonderful, exhilarating and I find myself wondering how we even got here. It feels like five minutes ago that I saw him behind an espresso machine, wanting to feel his hair between my fingers, his collarbone beneath my fingertips, his voice in my ear, his smile lighting me up and here he is, inches from my face.
While laying on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, Jeff on his back next to me, I begin my story about Rob starting with wanting to move to Chicago. I ramble on and on without making eye contact, talking at my headboard, at a pillow, but rarely at him. I almost cry but hold it. I explain all my interviewing, flying back and forth, falling in love with Rob, feeling like I was going to lose him, then…actually losing him and everything that came after.
I stop talking abruptly when I feel there’s nothing more to say. It’s weird how this happens. I’ll talk and talk until there are no words left to form but a weird silence that all the noise in the world could never fill. I can’t identify how I feel. I’m irritated for sure. I’m mad at myself for giving up all that information. What do I expect him to do with all that? What’s the point?
I can see that there isn’t a right or wrong when it comes to feelings, and sharing but I sometimes wish there were. I wish there was an instruction book for grief, a template to follow but I’ve got nothing. It’s all day to day and I think that’s the hardest part. I’m alone in my own journey through it even though there are people around me, I still have to find my own way and I lose my mind wanting someone to just tell me. Why can’t you just tell me where to go and what to do and how to say it and feel it?
Jeff hugs me hard. “I’m sorry. That’s really heavy.”
It is and I try to just hear what he said instead of taking it and running away with it on the crazy train. The crazy train will take me to a destination where everything is silenced and never shared out of fear that I’m somehow broken and not worth messing with. Somewhere though underneath all the crap I’ve piled on myself I know this to be untrue. So I stay put, not running but lacing up my shoes “just incase” for now. I let him hug me and I hear his words and roll them over I my head.
The subject begins to change in between kisses and quiet moments of staring at each other. I try to let him look me, my face and body and be ok with it. I’m working hard on being ok with letting him see me, with being still and not disrupting any of this stillness with my giggling, tickling or kissing. He asks me what I’m thinking and or feeling from time to time. I don’t have a lot of words.
Time is moving faster than I care to see and before we know it, it’s four the morning! I have to be awake in an hour then operate sharp objects for ten hours. Gonna be a looong day…

Salon Meeting...

I’m not feeling too hot today. Lots of emotion is bubbling under my surface and I want nothing to do with it. I enjoyed my time writing at the Unicorn café in Evanston before work but when I walked through the door I was immediately annoyed.
I took off my coat, changed my shoes and set up my station. My first one cancelled so I decided to work on my IL/GA State Board issue. I’m trying to get an Illinois license being the state reciprocates with Georgia instead of taking the exam again but it’s looking like I’m going to have to take the exam and I’m not a happy camper.
A new piece of paper on our break room wall catches my eye. There is a salon meeting on Feb 10th. Rage boils under my skin. Calm down. I tell myself. It’s only a couple of hours…
I want to be alone that day. I’m not accepting of it. I don’t want to see that it’s been two years since I met Rob, that I’ve lived two years without him, and that I am being reminded yet again that he’s not here. I am jealous still of my parents celebrating their anniversary. I hate having these feelings. I hate admitting it. I hate that my emotions are all over the place and are out of my control. I glare at the paper, trying to find a way out, wanting to go to Wicker Park’s meeting on the 11th. Hmm.
“Hey Melissa. How you feeling?” Shana, an assistant, asks me as she walks into the break room and sits across from me. I feel myself wanting to be honest so instead of the obligatory answer that consists of “Good!” before walking away I tell her I’m a bit stressed.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, there this state board crap…” I begin, telling her a little about that before launching into Rob and this meeting action. “ I don’t want to do it! I want to be alone!“ I exclaim. “I feel like I need to tell Jeff about all of this. Soon.” I’m trying not to cry, embarrassed at my outburst. “I don’t know how though. I don’t know how to bring it up.” I was seriously hoping to wait on unleashing all of this on him but it just so happens we met at about this time and I feel I’m going to need to explain my erratic moods and emotions.
“Just go to Wicker Park’s or Halsted’s meeting. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Shana tells me. “And with Jeff, just tell him what’s going on. Sometimes you’ve gotta give into the word vomit and let it all out.”
“When will it not be in the forefront of my mind? I don’t even know if I want that really. I have so much trouble just feeling anything. I judge myself so harshly.” I explain.
“It doesn’t get better. I just get’s a point where it sit in your heart a little more. The sadness is always there.” She says quietly then tells me her dad died on his birthday 12 years ago. It feels so good to talk to someone who “gets” it, who isn’t going to tell me to get over it, or shy away from me or my words. “This is part of who you are now.” she reminds me. “It’s ok to share it.
I never looked at it that way before. I’m ok with Rob while he was alive being a part of my life but his death being a current part of it? I don’t do too well with that. I want to carve that part out and forget that it ever happened.
“It takes a ton of time.” Shana says and I nod believing her but not wanting to…
Back to work…
I enjoy my clients. I’m trying to be as present as possible. Jeff and I text each other through out the day. He’s my breath of fresh air. When I finish my last client I get on the train home feeling beaten down but have found enough energy to write for a while. Before turning off the computer a couple of hours later, and climbing into bed, I remember that Jeff told me yesterday that he like hearing me talk. No one has ever said that before. I feel self conscious when talking about myself and about the fact that I almost need to. It’s a release for me, but I’m scared of it though. It’s so much easier to hold it all in. I quickly send him an email before heading to bed, thanking him for his comment.
Five am is going to come faster than I’d like…

Extra Giddy...

I’m racing up Milwaukee in heeled shiny boots, a dress, and my favorite red purse I bought in Stockholm lifetime ago. Well, that’s quite an exaggeration but it’s what it feels like at this point. I feel I have these chunks of life that are separate from each other because I was and am so different when I compare one chunk of life to another.
After I finished up at the gym this morning, Jeff texted me asking if I’d like to get lunch before he had to head to work. His schedule in a way resembles my former one as an assistant. It’s always changing from week to week. I haven’t had the chance yet to get used to having a set one again, but am enjoying the idea of it.
We agree on the Bongo Room. He’s never been and I have plenty of delicious and wonderful memories of the place from my first visit on my 26th birthday with Kat, to going every time I had an interview, to starting the first day of my life here in Chicago with breakfast from there, to eating alone, with friends, and now with Jeff.
I see him sitting at a table in corner and feel my face light up as his does the same.
“Hi!” I exclaim as he stands to hug me.
“How are you?”
“Good! How are you?” I sit and lean forward wanting to fall into him.
He nods. “Good.”
We stare at each other, smiling. I feel my toes curl in my boots, unable to hold his gaze for too long before shifting my eyes to the menu.
“You look nice.” he tells me. “I like your boots.”
“Thank you. So do you. I like your shirt.”
Dating while having an eating disorder is quite the dilemma. I use the fact that I’m on a date as an excuse to eat whatever I want and deal with the consequences later. This is how the trouble starts and snowballs into insanity. I don’t know how to balance it. I know that for today, to maintain my hard earned sanity I need to order a salad but find myself saying “red velvet pancakes” to the girl taking our order. When they arrive though, I don’t focus on them but on Jeff and his words, strung together into sentences describing his life, his work and find myself sharing details of my own life and work with such ease that it’s taking me aback a little bit. It’s like having my big toe sticking out of the wall I’ve been hiding behind testing the ground to see if it’s solid and safe. The toe is out there wiggling around until Jeff’s hand reaches for it, holds it’s and gently pulls it forward until my foot is exposed. Just the foot though.
After lunch we decide to get tea at a little place on Damen that a friend of his, James, just opened. We sit on a couch that matches my purple dress and continue our conversations about our younger selves, music, past job experiences etc… until he’s got to get to work. I’m not wanting the afternoon to end. We walk to the train and again find ourselves at the corner of Damen, Milwaukee and North Ave saying goodbye and agreeing to hang out tomorrow.
“I mean, if that’s ok.” he says. “I don’t want to eat up all of your time.”
Eat away my dear…
“Of course it’s ok!” I giggle. He hugs me hard and we go our separate ways.
I’ve officially had too much caffeine and am shaking by the time I get home. I quickly inhale lunch, barely tasting the sandwich I threw together and change into my running clothes. I quickly get that out of the way and shower trying to make it on time for OA. I don’t though and resign to staying home and working on my novel. I’m having trouble with the beginning. I’ve written some “middle” stuff but I’m not settled on how to start it. This is my third attempt and I’m trying it from starting on the morning of April 20th, the day that Rob died.
I’m alone at my kitchen table trying to get to a place mentally that will allow me to write about all of this. I have my journal out from that day and am trying to read it without getting too overwhelmed. I write but mostly sit there and stare out the window as if the words are going to write themselves. My roommate comes home and gives me shit for coming home late last night, assuming I was with Jeff.
“I work late on Tuesday.” I blandly say.
“No you don’t. You never work that late.” he nearly snaps.
“I do, and I commute!” I’m starting to snap. I don’t owe anyone an explanation for my whereabouts yet I feel like I have to defend myself.
He believes I’m already spending too much time with Jeff. I believe that’s no one’s business but mine. He continues to express his feelings on the matter before I snap yet again “Maybe I’m a fun date!” I’m surprised at this exclamation. I’m surprised I said it but even more surprised that I actually believe it. For the first time in my life I feel I’m worth dating, and maybe, just maybe I am deserving of someone else’s love.
I didn’t plan on spending so much time with Jeff, and am judgmental of my own process so I feel extra sensitive to my roommate’s observations. Still though, I feel ok with it and plan to keep going whether or not I spend every day with Jeff or simply see him once a week. I like him. Why can’t I just be ok with that?
Back to novel writing. I put my iPOD in when the television is turned on. I try to concentrate. I just want to be alone. My head is getting caught up in future stuff. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to write about a million different other things. If I could just focus on one sentence at a time, that would be great. Easier said than done.
I stop and decide to go back and read some messages that were sent after Rob died from people expressing their condolences through MySpace. I haven’t looked at these in a while. It’s excruciating, wonderful, comforting, and unbelievable. I feel I’m reading about someone else’s life, like I’m not in my body right now. I’m crying reading a message from a girl I worked with at Salonred explaining that Rob will “visit” me in various ways, I just have to remember to be open to seeing it. Being many steps ahead from that time in my life, I feel that I can look back now and “see” all the ways he reminds me that he’s still around me.
I stop reading and ask Rob if I’m supposed to be reading this right now…if everything I’ve seen is him and if I’m on the right path. Minutes later “Addicted” plays on my iPOD and I feel my heart may explode. My insides though feel as if they’re being washed by something calming, something that is involuntarily drying my tears and making me sit up a little straighter.
I need to take a walk. I don’t want to be in the house. I want my head to clear. I quickly fire off an email to mom having no idea what I just wrote when I click “send” and wander to bed.

Facebook...

The next morning I turn the computer on to see I have a “friend request” on Facebook from Jeff. I readily accept then let my mind go a little insane over the amount of information I choose to share on Facebook.
For instance, my blog. (Hey ya’ll!) My entire life with all it’s thoughts and experiences are documented and out there for the world to see. I chose to put it out there, to share and for the most part it has been met with love. There are times though where it’s been criticized, or my grieving process has been judged and it sends me into a frenzy. I also have trouble with what to write at times, wanting to let you into my thoughts and life but also feeling scared, or protective over all of it to a point where I won’t share anything.
Then… there’s the dating factor. I question how much to share with the world, because well, anyone who walks into my life can read about all my past stuff and know about it before I’m ready to share it on a more personal level with them. Of course this is a choice I make and continue to make but it’s always in the back of my mind. I feel I hide a lot from people out of fear. I fear once I let you in, let you see all of me, you’ll go away, you won’t want me. I can’t even let my own self in. How can I let someone else in?
A coworker asked why do I blog? Why put everything out there in such a way where I can never take it back.
“Sure I get writing in a journal and not letting anyone see that. I get writing to get your feelings out, but why is there a need to share…with everyone?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I like it. I like knowing there are people out there who care or are at least curious. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I don’t share much with people and this is a way to do so in a controlled environment. I feel I can connect with people and share my experience through something that is easier for me than talking face to face. I really can’t fully explain it. I still keep a journal and I am able to write about stuff I don’t post on my blog but when I write to you out here I can tap into other things I wouldn’t normally have thought about for some reason and I (as frustrating as it can be sometimes) enjoy the process.
“I still don’t understand the need for it. I’m glad it works for you, I just don’t understand.”
We have to agree to disagree because I can’t explain it the way I want.
February is tough. Rob and I met on the tenth which is my parent’s wedding anniversary as you know. I’m already feeling a bit squirrelly over it. Part of me wants to feel whatever it is I need to feel and part of me wants to be completely numb. This constant internal battle simply creates anger. That I can do. On some level it’s like I search for something to channel that anger to release what’s underneath instead of just letting what’s underneath out. I don’t know how to unlock it though. I’m not even sure I’m willing.
I like to think we met in February so that after he died the entire month would be filled with the hearts and love. I am reminded everywhere I go that he is still very much here despite all my feelings.
I find myself yet again dating someone new while feeling all of this. I can barely deal with myself. How do I take on another person? I feel like Rob and I are a package deal when it comes to letting someone else into my life. I don’t know how to share my experience out of fear of the reaction from the person I’m sharing it with. It’s easy to just be quiet, or let my anger take over…
My work day is filled with wonderful clients, and sweet text messages from Jeff. Assisting feels like a distant memory all the sudden as I race from client to client, always in motion and never stopping. I had forgotten what it was like to be a stylist. Only briefly though! I enjoy feeling hair beneath my fingers instead of towels or foil. I love all the conversations and the decision making. I also enjoy that I’m able to answer my client’s questions, am able to freely give my opinion when they ask and feel confident in my ability to do so. This wasn’t so much a reality in Atlanta and something I desperately wanted to attain while here in Chicago. The whole experience has been an absolute dream.
When it’s all said and done, I pack up and head home. I missed the Metra (the fast train…) and settle onto the red line of the CTA until I reach my stop and have to will my legs to move to catch the bus home and fall into bed.