“When I let go of what I am. I become what I might be.” – Lao Tzu
I don’t know what’s brought me back here. The anniversary of Curt’s death. The loss of so much support in my life. Henry moving back to the east coast. Another holiday season without mom. I have lost so much this year. I can barely breathe. A part of me feels stronger; more empowered by having survived all of this. But another part – a bigger part – feels completely hollow and listless. I feel as though I am careening through the universe with no axis or purpose. All I can do today is try and get out some of what I feel so I don’t drown in the tears that fill my eyes from the moment I wake up until I take two or three Melatonin to try and sleep.
I never thought I would be here. I feel defeated. Like a victim. Like I’ve never felt before. There’s nothing to really do but sit with the sadness and let it fill me. Sit with the change. Reflect. In some ways I am so much lighter and happier without Henry in my life. Though it’s harder to carry my grief on my own. I’ve lost a witness to my loss. Seeing him has twisted me up inside so much that I’m not even sure what our truth is anymore. He denies that his drinking is the cause of this breakup. He swims in the shallows of shit happens, people grow apart, and boys will be boys. I lose my breath trying to explain how much he’s hurt me and why I feel so abandoned. So he’ll go back to North Carolina free of everything he’s done and I’ll stay here tightly clutching my own reality and wondering if what we had was ever really real. The truth is there is no our truth anymore.
Going home for Thanksgiving, I was filled with hope. Hope that I would be able to save my sister, the grieving widow, from both the world and herself. Hope that there would be a new beginning. But she doesn’t want saving and she still doesn’t know how to love herself or me. I spent six days trying to be there for her while trying not to lose myself. Defeat. There is no amount of love or peace or energy I can bring into her life that will ease or erase any of the pain she’s feeling. She chooses to live in a world where she’s alone and it’s the only thing that makes me feel even more alone than I already do. Like Cut’s boots by the door in the garage, I am there but useless. Driving back home, I felt completely turned inside out. There is no mission or task that will save me from my own grief or loneliness. It is not my job to fix others’ pain or try or make up for anything lost. It is my job to sit with my own grief and keep walking through this painful mess. It is my job to sit on the back patio and miss Curt while Jackson runs wild. It is my job to keep memories alive and take care of myself so that I can be there to watch him run wild forever.
So much has shifted since April. I moved into my own apartment in Oakland, where I’ve always wanted to be. I traveled to Puerto Vallarta, Denver, Barcelona and Sitges, places I’ve always wanted to go. I’ve poured myself into a steady yoga practice and have been accepted into a teacher training program in early January, something I’ve long-since dreamed of doing. The journey to self realization has been easier from a logistical standpoint.
For awhile, I felt like this breakup created space for me to be better – a better sister, a better friend, a better person. But now, as the seismic shift continues to grow, the cracks in my foundation are deepening and there’s a toxicity oozing out from beneath the surface. House of lies. So much of my identity has been taking care of the needs of others for so long. It’s what I’ve perceived as soul food my entire life. Realizing how much this has cost me and how different it’s made me has both steadied and broken my heart. The enlightening is so much easier than whatever is supposed to come next. I miss mom the most in these moments. This too, was her struggle.
The breaking open of self is irreversible. Like trying to put whipped cream back into the can. Once it’s out there, it’s out there. I’ve been studying some of the things I’ve held close for so long, trying to make them make sense. Some I’ve used as weapons but most I’ve used as shields. And though I’ve always known that this dark undercurrent inside of me exists, it’s been something I’ve chosen to revere as a form of self care, rather than a form of selfishness. Maybe to settle the score. Maybe to just be a complete asshole. There is no real power living in the gray. I’ve watched the aftermath of my grief and trauma these past few years grow to the size of an insurmountable monster that’s no longer after just me. It wants everything. I can no longer live in the basement of my own house of lies.
So here I sit, half sifting through the ruins and half looking for something to dry my tears. I am broken into a thousand shards and stand empty amongst the fragments of my old life. There are no words to encompass or remedy what’s already been. Nor can I go backwards and bury myself in the false sense of security I once had. I am free from most of what I was but still not safe. I have shed so much of my skin and am now raw against the wind. Caught somewhere between lighter and truly enlightened.
getting lost. 