I Loved Him

Maybe it is the holiday's. Maybe the darkness of the season. Maybe it is seeing the depth of my Grandparents love since my Grandfather had a stroke. Yeah, that's probably it. Whatever the reason, I have been thinking about how much I loved Andrew, and just how hurt I am upon reflecting that I do not think that love was returned, at least not in the same way.

I remember one of the last interactions I had with him was finding a spiral notebook and flipping for a clear sheet of paper, I came across what appeared to be a list of some sort. After reading it, it was the most heart-wrenching list I had ever read in my life. He had made a list of things he wanted in a woman - these are the things I remember: someone younger, thinner, into more activities, more fun... Those are just what I remember, the list was much longer.

As you can imagine, then, as well as now, I just cried. The kind of tears that come from a dark and broken place.  He didn't love me. How long ago was it that he fell out of love with me? Why didn't he talk to me about what he wanted? Instead, alone, I found his list of wants. I am not getting any younger, I am certainly not thin, I didn't understand what he meant about activities, since I always asked him to do things and he was never interested in doing them - did he offer ideas? no. I guess I am no fun either. Reading these things felt like a punch in the tummy, the face. I felt beat up.

You are probably wondering if I confronted him. I did. I tearfully handed him the list, and simply walked away. He said he was so sorry that I had read it, and that he never intended for me to find it.

I did find it. Even though it was a year and a half ago, the wound is still fresh. It still oozes. It has infected my sense of self and overall worth as a woman, as a partner.

The Wheel

What does one do when they feel they are simply running, around and around, in the circular wheel? I was able to identify the feeling, trapped. I feel caged and the realization, that this is all, that this is it, brought an overwhelming fear, of dread - of simply wanting to die and have it be over with... For continuing on in this anguish, is no life.
While driving, I let go of the wheel, while sobbing uncontrollably. I wanted to car to crash, to feel a burst of energy, to feel my body crushed, to die.
And probably, like so many others, I reached again for the wheel, now crying so hard, that my body shakes, and I can no longer breathe. I think of my Mom, my sisters, my nephew. Those thoughts are just as overpoweringly sad.
I am afraid of life and death, and therefore stuck, in some sort of torturous purgatory-like state.

Tortured

I hate living like this. When the fear of abandonment comes haunting my thoughts, all my brain does is assure me of my imminent death. My heart pounds, my stomach cramps, my limbs shake, I cry. While in this state, I can't eat, I can't sleep. I feel like I am trapped and there is no way out.

This fear is deep and pronounced, almost primal. I try and breathe, but it is as if my breath does nothing, like my lungs are steel, and no air is moving in or out. My body goes into a survival mode - shut down time. I am jittery and nervous. I can feel my whole body; the blood moves in my veins, the electricity in my brain fires. My muscles shaking. I am alert and aware of all sounds and movements. I cannot rest.

Eventually, I pray that exhaustion will take over, because feeling like this is unbearable.  It is at these moments I find myself fantasizing about death, anything to make these feelings STOP! But my fear of death stops me from really carrying out any plan. I wonder if there will be a day that the desire for the feelings to stop will finally overtake my fear of death - this thought makes me scared and sad.

I am trapped in this ball of anxiety, fear, dread. Trapped & tortured.

What is Love?

How can love hurt and feel so amazing all at the same time? How does this dichotomy exist? How can something that we have been gifted with hurt so badly? How can it cause me to feel so alive? These questions rattling around in my head.

I got married, very young. It was not a mistake. No, I would not have done it differently. I know I would not be who I am today without Andrew. He loved and supported me as I became an adult. We loved and supported each other. We were children when we got married, we were adults when we got divorced.

Children love like children, this is a truth that doesn't completely make sense to me yet. However, I now see love as far more complex than I did at 20, and I expect I will feel differently again as I get older. But, at 31, things have changed. As a child, I saw love as simple, easy, and a right that was mine to take. As an adult, love is hard, it takes work, and it is my responsibility to give as much as I receive, and maybe sometimes, give more. Sure, there are times when it all comes easy, and Lord knows, I relish those moments, but they are fleeting.

My relationship now is not easy in the least. We have been through more trials and tribulations that I care to count, and sadly, I know there will be more to come. Why do I continue in such madness? Is is as simple as I love him? Am I crazy? Stupid? All of the above? Probably. Somehow, I don't seem to have power over this thing called love. And I am OK with that. Does it cause me grief? Hell yes. Does it bring me joy? Also, Hell yes! What can any of us do when we are hopelessly in love?

I suppose I will continue to simply let Life unfold in front of me. The dreams that float around in my head are at least worth trying. This is how I honor Divine Intervention, I try and be open to the possibility of life. The area of Love is something I keep learning about, new lessons, new ideas, new paths. I suppose all we can do is just have faith.

My heart hurts tonight.
Tears come and go without warning.
Surrounded by love and freedom, something liberating and terrifying.
Sitting with the uncertainty is so hard.
I keep trying to distract myself, but it keeps bringing me back.
Be. Here. Now.
Trying.

The Cliff

I have been in Hawaii for a week. This thought came to me, far more slowly than I would have anticipated.  The question, what will happen next keeps looming on my mind...

I have met several women here who I have been questioning (probably annoyingly so) about their experiences with traveling. With this acknowledgment of being annoying, does not, in any way, mean I am going to stop asking questions of these divine women.

The one statement that I have been left pondering is, "you aren't going to die if you don't have a job". This struck me as a very strong statement. My gut reaction was, "well, sure, I won't die, but it is SO irresponsible... right? right?".  The next thing she said to me was "stop living to work, and start working to live".

This level of higher thinking is something that I know I posses deep in my personhood, but to make it an actual reality is somewhat terrifying.  How do I transition to such a "faithful" way of living?

I am looking, cautiously, over the cliff at all the possibilities...

First Night in the Jungle

I am not sure I am going to make it here. Sure, in the light of day, everything is beautiful, breathtaking, and generally heaven-like, night-time though? That's a whole different game of survival of the fucking fittest!

Since I haven't totally adjusted to the time change, 8pm felt really late. I tried staying awake as long as possible. Admittedly, I was trying to be brave, but as the night hours grew deeper, my courage ran thin. Also, dear reader, keep in mind that the sun is set and it is dark by 8pm. Around 9pm, flashlight in hand, I made the journey toward my tent, passing along the way, the "caution wild pigs" sign, which did nothing for my nerves.

I cozy down, and even turned all the lights off, just to see how dark it was. That lasted all of 2 seconds. It was darker than the darkest anything ever. Lights back on. Ok, little wind-up lantern will eventually go out, all is good. Starting to close my eyes, and my freakin spidey sense, ever so gently whispered, "look over there". By the way, I could really use less of a spidey sense. I noticed a shadow inside my tent, "what the hell could that be?" my sleepy mind thought. So I grabbed my flashlight, turned it on and lo and behold, the BIGGEST FUCKING BEETLE OF ALL TIME a near 2 inches from my face. Needless to say, there was much swearing, and frantic planning on how this creature was going to meet its maker. I grabbed a book, the soft cover one (idiot self). Now the monster had crawled onto the side of the bookshelf, a place where it knew I wasn't going to be able to get it. Shit. "bug spray!" I said out loud, as if to proclaim to the bug you better get the FUCK OUTTA here! And with lightening speed, I grabbed my can of (illegal here at hedonisia), my deet filled spray. And just as you likely thought, the monster was now gone. Fuck. This. Shit.

Now what? It was me, and the BFBOAT, alone, in my zipped up tent. There was nothing I could do. Of course, it took about an hour to come to this realization. So, go back to bed? That would be what I tried to do, "tried" being the operative word.

Coqui frogs. They are loudest mutha fuckas I have ever heard. It baffles me that something so small could be so deafening! I suppose there is a metaphor to be made here, but that is another blog, today I will be focusing on my hatred of them. Think about a nature show, on FULL FUCKING BLAST, times TEN! The peircing sound stabbed my ears, for hours! I tried listening to music, on full blast, but it was not loud enough to drown out these fuckers. Keep in mind, I am normally a nature loving person, you know, live and let live, but I want these frogs dead. Dead!

Now the pig issue. I started hearing snorting and rustling, which assured me that they were smelling me out in order to eat me. And since I have not actually seen them, I have no real sense of their size. But at this point, I am sure they are the size of cars. I was told to make noise to scare them off, so I rattled my tent. And I heard them scatter off, but now they know I am here. Shit. This happened 4 times. Four. Fucking. Times.

And while the beetle was hunting me, frogs were stabbing me in the ears, pigs were snorting me out... I am under an avocado tree. I heard the loudest CRASH on the little make-shift roof. For a moment I thought the sky was falling. My eyes burst open, and a flash of light, for what I assume, was the fear hormones rushing through my body. These falling avocados happened 3 times.

Of course, there was also an epic rainstorm. The loudest rain I have ever heard, and I am from Portland. The rain also scared me. I mean, at this point, I felt like Mother Nature was being a real bitch, and I was fucking scared of her.

All in all, I am not sure how I am going to do another night. I am going to try earplugs, buy a knife to kill pigs, and maybe pray a little harder for Mother Nature to have mercy on this very tired soul.

Innocence Lost

As a 31 year old woman, I think one would expect that I would be all grown up. In some ways, I suppose I am. I have a woman's body, I have my first few wrinkles, discovered botox, gray hair, and I can't go out partying like I used to. However, in many ways, probably the ways that matter more, I feel like I am a child, coming of age.

I was asked a question about choosing a mate, and upon thinking about it, when I got married, I certainly wasn't thinking about "choosing a mate", I was simply doing what I thought I was supposed to do when you're in love: Get Married.  I thought I was old enough (20 years young) to make that decision, and I certainly can tell you, that no one would have been able to talk me out of it. I am an entirely different person that I was when I was 20. Just saying the number "twenty" and "getting married",  together in the same sentence, out-loud, sounds preposterous. If someone I knew was getting married at 20, I would think they were crazy! Did people think I was crazy, and simply kept it to themselves? I don't really care one way or the other if they did, but it is an interesting question.

I was thinking about when I moved to Irvine, CA for a fateful week.  Trying to transfer colleges, and ultimately getting duped by the, oh-so-christian-concordia, college system. I had to return to Portland. I was thinking about how much Andy and I were in love then. He was so happy to see me when I returned. I remember like it was yesterday, seeing him at my parents house - there is even a picture of us on that day, smiles as big and bright as the sun. We were young, innocent, lovers.

I saw a boy, roller skating down the street, with a red rose in his hand. He was skating, swiftly down the road, on what I will assume to be, his lovers home.  If only love could stay as simple as that rose. But like the rose, with time, love withers and dies. Petals fall to the ground to become swept up in the dust that becomes our lives.

Not What I Want, Is It What I Need?

Today, I signed divorce papers. In a few short weeks, a judge will sign the same papers, dissolving my marriage. This makes every cell in my body hurt.  This pain is far and above any physical pain I have ever experienced. It has become an ailment that my body cannot seem to heal from... It is a scar that I will where on the deepest part of my heart, forever. 

To anyone out there who has ever passed judgement on the divorced, please, think twice about ever doing it again.  I never thought I would get divorced. I never thought I would sit and cry in a lawyers office, while signing away the love of my life. 

This is certainly not what I want. However, I find myself wondering if it is what I need. The wise people in my life tell me it is. I have yet to believe them. Only time will tell, and I truly no longer have a choice.  I wanted to sign the papers first. I couldn't bear seeing his name signed. However, I know that he will have to deal with seeing mine, and that brings deep sorrow.

One thing I am grateful for, is that Andy and I were both very kind, peaceful, and compassionate towards each other during this process. Which, naturally, makes me wonder, "why, then?". But it is, what it is.

I am divorced. It sucks.

Happy Mother's Day

I am considering this my Better Homes and Garden's blog for Mother's. My Mom is always critisizing herself for not cleaning enough, well this piece is my attempt to change her perspective. Let's take a tour of my Mother's home. The Living Room Upon entry one will find a wood burning stove. The primary and only source of heat for the home. If it is early morning, she has likely gotten out of bed and lit a fire so that the rest of us can wake to a warm house. A little further in, the couch is full of pillows, blankets, and other things to keep one cozy. The blankets have cartoon characters, or they are worn with years of love, the faded colors showing the years of cozy snuggling that has been done. The Restroom A girls dream! Every product imaginable - lotions, perfumes, magical potions! The towels are yummy smelling from a fresh wash and soft for dryer sheets, and if it is spring and summer, you may be lucky enough to dry off with a towel that has dried in the sunshine, a truly heavenly treat- who knew that sunshine and wind had a fragrance?! The Kitchen A place where all appetites may be satisfied. Treats, juices, milk, breads, proteins... The smell of dinner cooking, and the conversations surround what would be a suitable dessert. She complains that there are no dishes without the ABC's or silly children's art on them, but I see a never lost childhood, dishes that no one cries fits over getting broken or lost, a comfortable place where you can relax. Seeing dishes that I used as a child takes me back to simpler times, and I need that more than ever right now. My Bedroom I recently moved into my Mother's home, for reasons that are certainly due their own blog, but I will attempt to stay on topic. My parents moved their room upstairs so that I could have a private space. The walls are decorated with puzzles that my nephew has put together. She was worried I wouldn't like it, but she would be very wrong. They are representative of time, creativity, focus, skill, laughing, smiling. All these things that remind me of my own childhood. So, what is my point, dear reader? I think I wanted to create a quick snapshot of my mom's castle, for she truly is a queen. She worries so much about "not doing it right", and I wanted to attempt to ease her fears, and assure her that she is loved. And we all adore the mismatched dishes and towels. They represent out lives - swooped together in a cosmic miracle of life, all the mishap adventures, all the beautiful colors and memories of time spent together. Besides, I don't wanna be yelled at for breaking a dish :) I love you, Mom.

A Life-Long Sentence

It hurts so much. I never knew how deep and dark pain could be. The most terrifying, is the fact that I don't think I have reached the bottom of this pit of anguish. It is a dark place, in my gut that thrashes, and gnaws at my spirit... It is clawing and chewing at my will to simply exist.

I hear music, and it is like the notes wake my tears from a drowsy slumber. They never really went to sleep. They are always on the surface of my being.  They rise and roll off my cheeks, into my ears, my mouth, my body... Like I am being slowly drowned...

There is no light. Only darkness. I don't want to feel like this forever, and I am so scared that that will be my fate. I don't see any other way. I just hurt all the time. I am becoming very good at faking a smile, a laugh... Faking my way through this waking life... That is no life... that is a sentence.

Saying Good-Bye Hurts

But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.  ~Edward Young

Saying good-bye is hard. Do you really know what it means? It comes from “God be with you” from the 14^th century. I am not referring to the sweet, “until we meet again”, kind of good-bye. This is the kind of good-bye that is the death of something you love.

Meeting with my soon-to-be “ex-husband” this past week has stirred the pain of my wound. And in exploring this wound, discovered that it isn’t saying good-bye to him that is the hardest part, it was the drive home, when I was daydreaming about all the lost dreams.

So many dreams are dying with this divorce. We had always talked about going to Europe together. I had always dreamed about having children with this man. I had envisioned what they would look like, what it would be like to have them in his arms.  The home that we created together is being surgically dissected, one cardboard box at a time. These are the things that I mourn, along with the man that I vowed to spend the rest of my life with… It was to be his old eyes I was to look into…

But none of those things will come to pass, and the agony of that reality is killing me. I can’t seem to stop thinking about all those things that will never be. I am stuck in this perpetual state of wanting to change something that cannot be changed. You can’t cheat death.

I suppose, I am simply supposed to sit in it. Allow myself to mourn, whatever that means?! How will I know I am done with it? Will it always torment me?

I am not ready to say good-bye but I am getting closer to being ready to let God be with him.

I Went to Church Today

Today I went to church.  I think the last time I stepped foot inside a church was about 7 months ago… just as I was starting to seek answers for my broken marriage.  Alas, I was met by people who seemed more concerned about my weight and appearance (a topic for another entry, I’m sure) than they did about my need for spiritual healing.  Needless to say, I felt as though I had hit a roadblock.  This church was my home church, where my husband and I had become members. But, like many things we shared together, this was going to have to be another thing to let go of.

I went to a new church today and I listened to Dr. Marcus Borg deliver the sermon. His birthday is today, and he turned 70. His message was that the Christian faith is simply one of many that brings people closer to God, and that for him, Christianity is home. It was that phrase, “Christianity is home”, that echoed in my heart. And, being the season of Lent, he spoke about the mortal man, and how we rarely remember to see our death, not as scary, but as wisdom. Wisdom to know that each moment is a gift. He finally ended with the message that Jesus trumps the Bible, and sometimes the Bible is wrong, and in that instance, Jesus trumps the bible verse that is sometimes used to divide us.

The main point of this entry is my realization that my Christianity is home to me.  It is always where I end up when I feel broken, betrayed, & hurt. I find myself lamenting to God through the tears that run down my face. It is there, that I find the most comfort, even if, sometimes, I don’t think anyone is out there, and I am just a crazy woman talking to myself.

Maybe just embracing myself as the crazy woman would make this journey a lot easier. Sigh. Dearest Reader, I leave you with the Lenten question of, what happens when this waking life is finished? For I am scared to fucking death, so to speak.

Afraid of the Dark

When the lights turned out last night, I started crying. I am afraid of the dark, but the person with whom I was sharing space with does not sleep with lights on, and he has already been accommodating by agreeing to let me keep a fan running (I also cannot, let me repeat, cannot sleep in silence). The lights went out, and I closed my eyes, because for some reason if I close my eyes tight, it doesn't feel as scary. Then I started crying.

I believe there has got to be something symbolic about me feeling safer while closing my eyes while it's pitch black.  It makes no logical sense - it's just as dark.  But for some reason, in my child brain, if I don't see the monsters, then they aren't there. My grown-up brain knows better.

If I don't open my eyes and face what is in front of me, then I will be stuck with my eyes closed forever. I won't be able to see the sun come up. I know this. But for the time being, I just can't seem to open my eyes long enough to let them adjust to the loss of light. I cried more.

How does one keep their eyes open long enough to adjust when it is so scary? I am afraid I am going to explode with grief. Like there is just too much to face - it feels better under the covers with my eyes closed tightly, body clenched, and breath held. Dearest reader, do we ever grow up? Are we ever without fear?

I think I'll go back under the covers for a while.

Faith

I had my first question of faith at 17 years young. I remember the physical sensation of a plug being ripped out of my gut, and all light, hope, and life, just drained out of me. And when the last drop was gone, I was filled with incredible fear and anxiety. What had happened? Where was God? Who was I? What was the point of all this? The flood of questions struck my in the face with the severity of a slap. Each one, over and over.

I tried doing the same things - go to church, pray, read my bible... but it didn't feel the same. Now I am wondering about that famous quote about insanity - doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Well, things were never the same.  For the first time in my life, I was wandering through a dark period of doubt. A few years went by, college, marriage... it seemed as though faith reappeared.

Throughout my twenty's, I dabbled in different ideas of religion... Wiccan, Buddhism, Tantra, Goddess Worship, Christianity. I would ebb and flow throughout all of them, and I appreciated the groundlessness that was my exploration. I refused to let any of them define me. I saw what religion did to people that let it define them, and those people scared me. Perhaps it was their certainty that they were right, and I was wrong, or likely more accurate, I was afraid I would have to give something up if I wanted to fully commit.  There were so many valuable things in each one of the new faiths that I experienced.

Wiccan brought me wisdom of Mother Earth, Buddhism taught me compassion for self, Tantra taught me that pleasure and life go hand in hand, Goddess worship gave me the female side of God that I hadn't ever experienced before, and Christianity taught me about forgiveness and love... How could I deny any of them? I struggle with this daily. What do you do, gentle reader?

Today I am, once again, facing a complete loss of faith. I am wondering what the point of all of this is? Why don't we just all kill ourselves off? We are all on our way to dust anyways. Is it just our fear that keeps us from doing it? I can't seem to grasp the idea that we are all going to be alright in the end. I just fear the non-existence. I struggle with the thought of "why was I even born?" - why do I have to think these horrible thoughts?

Please, share with me your stories of faith. I need your stories.