Perspective

I’m writing this post in the hope that, by writing it, the chatter in my brain will quiet down – at least for a few hours, because I really have to get some work done tonight.

Last night, I found out some information about my ex that has made me feel rather tumultuous over the last 24 hours.  It can be summed up in the ever-so-typical post-breakup experience of finding out that your ex moved on.  The how quickly and the with who part of the equation hasn’t made it easier…let’s just say I did not catch a break here.

So, the last 24 hours have been a bit of a process – an up and downhill battle with myself. Worsened by the fact that I’ve been missing him and thinking about him pretty regularly for a couple of weeks now.  I’m guessing this is just part of my cycle – good for a while, sad for a while…  And, even with this new knowledge, I still love him.  Despite my bleeding heart.

About the only productive thing I’ve accomplished today, was going to volunteer tonight.  I volunteer in the pediatric wing of a hospital, a sort of quiet, personal tribute to my sister – trying to make some sick kid’s life just a little better, even if just for a little while.  There is a lot of cleaning and sanitizing, but there’s also a lot of spending time with children of all shapes and sizes.  Tonight, I spent a bit of time walking around holding a very, very adorable baby. She is a cuddler, the nurse said. So, I just paced back and forth staring into this teeny tiny face.  And, everything fell away for a while.  All that existed was me and this baby.

And I tried to find some perspective while looking at this sweet, little face, in the land of hospital world where one should just have a general appreciation for life.  I tried to find some way of looking at this that just didn’t feel so shitty.  But, it does feel shitty.  It feels really really shitty.

And ya know what?  That’s okay.  If anything, I’m just being honest.  I was honest in the relationship and I’m honest outside of it.  I’m at least going to give myself that.  I wasn’t perfect, but I was always honest.  I’m not gonna start lying to myself now…this hurts, this sucks, and as much as I want to find some way to be positive…I think that today, I’m going to feel the shittiness, feel the sadness…and just let myself be.

I’ll find perspective tomorrow.

The Difference

White Sands Slope

 

These past couple of days, I’ve missed him.  Like an ache.  Even the word “yearn” comes to mind.  I’m a little sick and passed out for a few hours and there he was – in my dream. We were broken up but alone in a house and there was a moment when we were close and I just felt such relief, such comfort in that moment.  And that was it, dream over.

I’ve had a good summer.  I’m in a happier place and yet, the sadness has returned. Unfortunately, any sad feeling, especially one related to missing, seems to be directly linked to the sadness surrounding the loss of my sister.  So, once I miss him, I inevitably miss her.  It’s missing by association to the feeling of missing generally.  I slide downwards and then, there I am missing the both of them and wondering – what’s the difference?  Why when I miss him do I eventually miss her?  Why can’t my mind/my body realize that these are distinct situations?  He’s alive.  She is not.  He’s off somewhere doing something and as far as my belief system goes, she is not.

But they’re both untouchable, intangible, unavailable to me.  That’s hard.  Hard to accept, hard to wrap my mind around.  And both situations are full of looking back at the woulda shoulda couldas.  With him, I try to think – well, I can say I’ve learned about love – about the good and bad of both sides – of me and him – of the interaction.  I’ve learned and so the next time I love, maybe I can do better.  With her, there’s no next time.  No one’s going to enter my life as my new sister.  No one could.

But no one can replace him, either.  It’s not like the next guy is going to wash him away. I wouldn’t want that.  He helped form who I am today and I wouldn’t want to give those things up, those pieces of me.

It’s just the losing…the losing of someone who was so important, someone who influenced who you are. One day they were both here and then they weren’t.

There is a difference.  One is incomprehensibly worse than the other.  But the feeling of loss is on a spectrum and he sits along there just like she does.  And the loss of the two swirls together so that it’s hard to tell who is causing what.

 

Namaste

namasteI’m okay.

About four weeks ago, I realized that…or at least that I was on my way to that.  To a state of okay-ness.

I’ve continued to go to yoga (borderline obsessed with it) and to the gym regularly.  I was on a soccer team.  I found a bar that I like going to and feel comfortable at alone.  I’m finding ways to accomplish work goals and I’m slowly creating a game plan for my future. It may end up being the case that when I leave this city, I actually miss it…

This city has been a rough, bumpy time for me.  Moving here less than a year after my sister died, dealing with the deaths of other family members, getting broken up with…  And during all that, realizing that my job is not what I was hoping it would be…  I don’t think there’s any question that I’ve felt a little lost.

The breakup woke me up – was the tipping point – the last straw to a realization – that I was developing characteristics that I didn’t want to have, that I wasn’t being proactive but inactive in pursuing the life that I want, that I lost my sense of adventure and was no longer pushing myself to try new things, make new friends…

In the past couple of months, I’ve changed that.  I’ve started to gain parts of me back that I hadn’t even realized were lost.  And, I’ve made new friends.  One in particular a couple of weeks ago, that unbeknownst to him, gave me something incredibly special – a shirt with an owl on it.  I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned that my sister was obsessed with owls – but she was.  So many owls!  I have at least three, four, five owl-related items of hers.  So, being given this shirt…  If I was sure of the afterlife, I would take it as a clear sign of my sister reassuring me that everything will be okay.  That I’m on the right path.  Since I am unsure, though, I just let myself enjoy the comfort of the notion without questioning the reality of it.

In yoga, at the end of every class – you lay in corpse pose (Savasana), a meditative, quiet pose.  As the teacher brings your awareness back, she usually discusses that in corpse pose you let your old self die and you are reborn a better version of yourself.  If only it were really that easy…but maybe it is?

It’s as if everything I’ve been through in the past…well, decade really…was pushing me towards this ledge…and instead of letting it all go and jumping off – arms wide open…I clung on to it all, kept myself from falling – saw it as falling, saw it as failing.  And, I’m still hesitant…I don’t think I’ve quite made the leap yet, but I’m looking over the edge and I’m no longer scared of not knowing what’s below, instead I’m starting to feel that excitement of the unknown that I lost a while back…  I can feel it burning in my belly, twinkling in my eyes…  I’m finding myself, again.  And gawd, how I’ve missed me.

It’s a strange thing to lose yourself…but it’s an amazing thing to regain yourself, even if it’s only a little at a time.

I’m going to end this post with my own version of the closing of every yoga class, because, well, it’s about honoring the light within each one of us.  I know it sounds a little froo froo, but for me, it’s come to mean being true to myself, accepting who I am but also working towards who I want to be, and acknowledging others doing the same in their own way. And even further, providing encouragement and support to one another as we try to become these better versions of ourselves.  (Yeah yeah – I’ve obviously become a yogi – so sue me.)

So with that:

The unique, twinkling, transforming light within me honors the equally unique, radiant, and powerful light within each one of you.

Namaste.

 

Weird Day

Saturday…well, Saturday was just plain weird.

In an effort to make new friends and get myself out of the house, I joined a gym and yoga studio last week.  Both had super sweet deals and neither forced me to sign those ridiculous contracts that you can easily get pressured into…

So, Saturday morning, I decide to attend my first yoga class – it was an easy class, which is what I wanted since I’m new to yoga – more of a meditation really.  You hold six or seven poses for 5-10 minutes each.  The yoga instructor mentioned that some people laugh or cry – that it’s normal to feel emotional…

I cried nearly the whole damn time.  From the second pose on, there was a constant, silent stream of tears.  At one point, the instructor dabbed my face with tissues and then pressed them into my hand.

I had recently wondered about my lack of tears actually – I hadn’t really cried since the day I was broken up with – maybe a brief moment here or there but other than that, nada.  No true break down.  I chalked this up to having dealt with a loss much much worse than a breakup.  But, I guess I was just holding it in.

I didn’t feel too embarrassed…okay, I felt slightly embarrassed, as I exited the studio and ran smack dab into all the other yoga instructors – two of which I had met when signing up. They smiled and asked me how my first class went and I told them how I cried the whole time…they said that happens and then, invited me to a pool party.

Again, I’m trying to force myself to do things…so I go to the pool party.  I eat some food, have a few drinks, and meet new people.  I drink some water and decide I’ll head to the gym.  I don’t feel drunk at all – I’ve had plenty of food…again, pushing myself to do things.

About fifteen minutes into my gym workout, I start feeling incredibly dizzy.  I could barely sit up, so I lay there on a workout bench wondering what the hell is going on with me. After a few minutes, I decide to go to the locker room and have never had to focus so hard to walk in my life, the world spinning all around me.  I find a bench and a trash can to hug…a few people try to help me but even the girl at the front desk is pretty useless.  I’m useless – I have no clue what is going on with me.  I start thinking that maybe I’m just massively dehydrated from the crying and the few drinks…

About 30 minutes go by and I realize that I just have to get to my car.  I mentally make this my very tiny goal – just get to the car.  Get to the car.  Get to the car.  I walk out of the locker room, past the girl at the front desk, exit the doors…and run immediately to a trash can and puke.  And puke.  And puke.

No one saw it.  I finally get myself to my car.  And I sit in it with the air blowing on my face for about 30 minutes.  All I can think is how I want to call him…want some reassurance that I’m not dying…that this was all poor decision making…that I can and will get home.  I just miss him.  And it’s not that I think I necessarily needed him – I don’t need someone to tell me I’ll be okay…I just wanted someone to say it.  Wanted to exist to someone.  In particular, I wanted to exist to him.

If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is there to hear it…  Well, if a girl pukes her life up in a trash can and no one is there to see it…

Finally, I will myself to drive home, just to sit in my parking spot for twenty minutes…before convincing myself that I can walk to my front door, which I do – after throwing up, again, on some plants along the way.

I magically get to my bed and pass out for four hours straight.  When I woke up, I thought this was all just dehydration…but the dizziness (minus the puking – thank gawd), continued yesterday – and today, I have a fever and chills.

And there’s nothing like being sick to make you miss someone even more…

I try to tell myself that I’m lucky to have had someone like that – to have been in love and have had someone love me.  My sister never had that.

I don’t know that I even felt lonely, I wasn’t really sad – I just felt non-existent.  How many days did she feel non-existent?  Like she could just disappear and it wouldn’t matter?

And I’m not saying it wouldn’t, wouldn’t matter…but there is something to having a significant other – to feeling really important to someone else…that in many ways, supersedes your family.  I wish she had had that – if even for a moment.  So, I guess in turn, I should be happy that I had that, even if it’s over and I’m puking in trash cans alone now.