My roommate, friend and sistah Fran got an enormous brass trunk one time from a family member.  It was heavy and worn, ornate but in a simple way.  It has beads around it and clasps.  I feel like I put everything about my experience involving EC into an identical brass trunk and I carry it with me wherever I go.  I don’t even know what’s in it anymore or why I carry it with me.  It slows me down and exhausts me.

After reading the beginning of The Places That Scare You by Pema Chodron, I closed my eyes and pictured me walking along the beach and dragging that trunk with me.  I stop to take a break and sit down on it.  It has become my go-to place, the thing that causes my exhaustion and a place I look to when I don’t know where else to go.  I see the sand, the water, and pelicans flying.  I see buildings, but they are in the distance.  I don’t have the cars passing, it’s a tranquil moment.  And I open the trunk.  I pull out a scarf and a necklace he gave me in Italy.  I pull out the gondola we rode in Venice, the pizza, pasta, wine and cappuccino we dined on, the drive we took up a mountain, the stops at the castle and walking around a windy turn overlooking Aviano.  I see the movies we watched together, the time we talked for hours and then went to his place and made love right there on the living room floor.  

But after the good memories comes what happened afterwards.  There’s a pain, a big wadded up rotten black ball of pain.  And it’s excruciatingly heavy.  It is bruised in some places, scabbed in some, but mostly it is just scarred now. At one point it was a ball of fire that had to be extinguished.  I didn’t do that so healthily.  But, in my defense, I didn’t really have time.  Life added to it quickly. It needs to be examined and treated.  It was the one time I ever put absolute faith into someone and I thought when I left him in Italy I would be back.  I thought for sure we would make distance an obstacle we overcame.  When he pulled back and where words once filled the days and silence erupted, I felt the most pure and raw rejection of my entire life.  I was ashamed of myself for diving in and loving that man.  

You expect health problems from your parents, dogs to die and jobs to be lost.  I expected those.  I did not expect the love of my life–with whom I had a grand adventure–to distance me and cast me away.  Not for a second time.  This ball of pain I carry around now makes that 18 year old me who was “hurt” look like a paper cut.  Swift, painful and forgotten within a day.  He was everything I had wanted.  A new chapter with a story so that wasn’t easy but so very worth it.  Or so I thought.  When I close my eyes and I see the beach and all these things I have pulled out of the trunk, I know I should leave them there. Toss them into the ocean and walk away. They mean nothing to him–he’s moved on and married–but to me they were the highlight of my life.  It’s everything I ever wanted…except it isn’t.  Here it is all around me and killing me inside.  Walk away, woman, leave it all there and run down the beach to a new adventure.  Go…go….

Why isn’t she going?

Over the course of several years, I have blatantly slandered Insomnia on social media, to groups of people and blamed it for a lot of my problems. But over the last month, I have found insomnia is actually quite blissful. Not only that, but I have found the cure. 

While I would rather be dreaming about well-dressed, dashing men riding up on unicorns (a Bachlorette reference for those with real lives and not secretly in love with the show…that’s a whole other blog), I am not. For whatever reason–and it varies from night to night–I am awake at 2 or 3 am. I used to be miserable waking up and abandoning dreamland. But lately, I realize this is the most perfect time of day. 

Why? Because in the middle of the night, NO ONE BOTHERS ME. Whether my own resentments or legitimate complaint, personalities do not exist this time of day. I have absolutely zero expectations right now. The only expectation is self-inflicted and that’s sleep. If I forgo telling myself I should be sleeping, all is well in the universe. No one is going to text me right now asking or needing something from me. And if they do, they do not expect a response. The dogs are asleep and are quite frankly annoyed I even move about this time of day. I don’t check my work email so I don’t have any bitching to listen to nor any new issue to address. There’s no deadline, nothing is on the front or back burner at 2am. I’m not letting anyone down. It’s completely quiet. 

It’s one of the few hours out of every 24 that I am conscious and all is well in my little world. I soak it up. I’ve learned that approximately 18 of every 24 hours I’ll find I cannot please everyone, I struggle to balance work and home duties, inevitably some coworkers will feel they didn’t get enough notice (even if it’s six months notice), I’ll make an error somewhere (Lord, let it not be an “error a minute” day, amen), or at minimum the bank balance (or lack thereof) will cause some anxiety. But right now, absolutely none of that comes into play. 

I couldn’t be forced to care about the daily frustration of PR and personality management, I could care less about the bank balance, I have complete silence and space without any interruption. Ahhhh, bliss. As if that wasn’t peaceful enough, the fur babies are the most precious sleeping and cuddly bugs EVER at 2am. So I have decided to start making the most of it. I’ll brew coffee and write some, maybe read a little, sit outside and enjoy the stars and the cool temps. 

Amazingly, as soon as I get up and do that–when my body feels like I might be getting ready to start the day where all the bullshit listed above will become reality–I start shutting back down. There’s a revolt of the nervous system and I can usually come back to bed and fall asleep. In about three hours the personalities, the emails, the bills, the dirt and dust needing cleaned up, the myriad of projects unfinished or not yet started, and errands that I need to run will all hit like a ton of bricks and I won’t want to face it. But right now, in the silent, dark, quiet moments of the day everything is beautiful. 

The little Hall Family has expanded. Wilbur is part of us now. He’s quite different from Sadie because he is young and he’s fitting in nicely. I feel guilt about upsetting Sadie’s norm after all the poor girl has been through in her estimated 12 years. But she doesn’t seem to hate me too much. 

Expansion in any capacity is, by design, uncomfortable. The land mines of guilt, solitude, pain, or any combination there of usually await with several of their friends. Over the course of my life, I have found that sometimes expansion is preceded by a feeling of reduction. Things or people go away and there is an empty space. How we fill that void can be directly correlates to the expansion we will gain in our lives. I’ve experienced this a number of ways: divorce, living away from my family, death of loved ones, losing a job, a broken heart, a friendship that is severed. Whatever I focus on and however I occupy my mind afterwards can be attributed to the expansion of my spirit. 

Sometimes I look at Sadie and see a very old and tired dog. But sometimes I look at her and see her eyeing Wilbur, then her ears perk up and go into mischievous mode, and she’ll start playing with him. Even if it’s just for a few seconds, my heart expands when her eyes light up. 

So yes, the Hall Family is larger by ten pounds, but happier by tenfold. 

#AdventuresOfWilburSadieAndApryl

I swear there is music in my dreams. I woke up with “Me & Bobby McGee” stuck in my head. I was singing it (silently, as to not kill the goodness of the early morning), when I came to the line, “I’d trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday” when I realized that was the part stuck in my head. And so instead of just keep going, I over analyzed it. Hey, it’s what I do!

First off, when I actually asked myself if I would trade any of my tomorrows for a yesterday the answer was a firm NO WAY. This isn’t to say I couldn’t go back to a few days in history and revise my behavior, but I wouldn’t go back and have them in lieu of whatever goodness may be ahead of me. And that’s how I knew I was healing. Maybe not healed, but healing. It’s in progress. It’s how I know I’m shaking the pain of 2014 off. 

I realize I have played the victim of life. I am now accepting full responsibility for everything that has happened and how I felt about it. I wouldn’t give the man that devastated me one more minute of my life. [Not that he would want it–he’s happily married for a third time (the complete irony of that statement doesn’t escape me) (and, oops, a small dig slipped in).] But it isn’t about him, loss of a six figure income, losing my Chloe, or any of the other heartache that came along. It’s about how I choose to hold onto the pain and also release it. In fact, I’m getting to where I thank the Lord for all the change and presumed hardships because I refuse to be reduced by it. 

For a long time it made me angry and changed a lot inside me. Slowly perhaps, but a shift occurred and not always for the best. I have a lot of work still left to do, but I think I see some progress and I am quite satisfied with the direction I am going. 

Yesterday, I cried. I posted about my greatest fear. That’s significant, but it’s only part of what’s going on with me right now. I’m using that material and pain as the catalyst to write a book. Now, as much as I’d love to say I sit down everyday and bust out a chapter, the reality is that I’m walking through a transition in life and the pieces are still being revealed. A paragraph or two may develop each day. The sequence of how it ultimately ends up in the final presentation are a mystery to me. 

I’m going with the flow. I spend everyday at work going 90 mph with no peace and no organization. It’s good to come home to the opposite but it also helps me learn to just go with whatever comes out in my writing. Sometimes it’s messy and pointless (maybe), other days it is poignant. I’m giving myself a break on this and just doing what delights my soul in the moment. Whatever brings relief.

Today, I realized my greatest fear is all in my head. The thing that brought me to tears last night, is a work of fiction. It’s not anything tangible. Could it happen? Sure. In this world where strange, mind-blowing events transpire daily, it is possible that I could run into the person who broke my heart. But to remain broken is my choice. Part of the reason I am writing is to heal old wounds. And today I realize it isn’t that person, it’s what he symbolizes. Life changed in all areas for me, starting with a broken heart. In fact, there are few things that remain the same since then: my address, my closest friends…that’s about it off the top of my head. 

Though I wept yesterday wondering if it would ever happen, truth is, I wonder if I will ever love someone again. Was he the last great romance of my life? But even that bit of what seemed magical and divine came crashing down. So it wasn’t all that my heart and mind thought it was anyway. It’s just a piece of my story. One that’s being told piece by piece and surely the future holds something better…. 

My co-author. 

I’m scared of heights.  I’d rather not encounter a snake or a bear.  I don’t play with fire, I wear my seatbelt, and I am pretty sure I could use deep breathing exercises to talk myself through a very small, enclosed space.  So it’s funny to sit back and think that the one fear that really petrifies me to the bone, is a ghost.  Not the dead kind, but the living kind.  The kind from the past and that comes back to haunt.  Seeing your face again is my greatest fear.  I’d rather take my chances with the bear or the cramped space.  My biggest fear is that the minute I let my guard down, I’ll turn around and bump into you.  And Mrs. You.  And possibly by now, Baby You.  I can barely tolerate the thought of it.  And sometimes, after a long day with sore feet and guilt from potato chips weighing on my conscious, I weep at the thought.

Isn’t it ironic how you broke my heart all the way from Italy and the universe thought it would be funny to station you three hours away in Florida? Just a hop and a skip away.  I hope you love Florida.  I hope it’s paradise and you (and Mrs. You) never leave its borders.  I know–because we talked day in and day out for months and months–that you used to come here when you were in Alabama.  I fear I’ll be out with friends having a rip roaring good time and excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Then, when I’m walking down a hall alone with my defenses down and a smile on my face, you’ll come walking towards me.  I don’t know what I would do.  I’m fairly certain I could remain standing, although I may casually run a finger along the wall to steady myself.  I don’t know if I would freeze or just stare hard and walk past you. I don’t know if I could breathe until you had passed.  I think not.  When I picture this horror in my mind, I don’t feel any air getting to me.   

And in my mind, the worst thing you could ever do would be weasel your way into my life a third time.  It was one thing to break my heart in 1997.  We were young and dumb.  But what happened in 2014?  No, that was different.  That was…cold.  And heartless.  Careless.  You have no idea how hard it was to keep going after that.  The devastation was fresh when, like dominos, everything else started falling apart.  Life came undone.  I survived.  But of all the absolute fucking bullshit that next year and a half was, the scar that still remains most sensitive is you.  My dad, the dog, the job…I got through it.  It was not expected, but it was in the realm of possibility.  You crushing my heart and letting the all communication cease with 5,000 miles between us?  After I’d devoted myself to you while you were in Afghanistan and rushed off to Italy to see you as soon as you got out of a war zone?  You just left me hanging here?!  

No, of all the fears and monsters and demons this world has to offer, I’d pick all of them over you.  Maybe you aren’t a bad guy, but you’re my biggest fear.  

In my 20’s life felt like driving a car–I had goals and destinations and to get there with speed was what I aimed for. The greatest lesson in my 30’s is that life has become more like sailing an ocean. I have traveled, seen more, turned around a couple times, and veered off course more than I care to admit. 

Life isn’t what I thought it would look like; of all the pictures I had in my head, this was never it. And while that could be frustrating or painful, I’ve found the quicker I learn to accept that the Highway version I once had is replaced by the Sailing one the easier it is. I can’t change the past and it has led me here. But some days–like today–when I’m burnt and crying because….well because I’m a girl!!…I feel like maybe I have this adulting thing all wrong. 

But I realized it’s my journey and I chart the course with the help of God, my family and my friends. If I can shake the idea of how things were supposed to be, I think I will more clearly see everything is how it should be. I didn’t want my heart to get smashed into pieces, I didn’t want to face my parents health problems, I didn’t want to lose my old job and big paycheck, I didn’t want to deal with bugs and drug dealers at a thrift store, I didn’t want to get a chunk of my leg carved out….but that happened. And I survived it all. 

And just as it has done, I’m sure life will continue to surprise me. It’s the price we pay for getting to be here. And the good outweighs the bad things by so, so much. I now have a new career and new direction. I just have to keep telling myself to adjust the sails as needed. Sometimes that’s a few times in a day.

You know, there’s always the straw that breaks you. The last two weeks have dealt that hand. Normally a voice inside me starts a loop of positivity to counter the melancholy from setting in. Not this time. It seems like pieces of my heart and soul are strewn about; and this time, I’m letting them sit there. 

I haven’t the strength to pick it all up and put it back together. They can sit a while. I am careful not to let my energy poison the space around me. I put on a smile for work and mandatory activities then come home and go to bed. I sleep so much my roommate calls me a koala bear. I argue it’s more sloth-like but you know, whatever. I try to minimize the damage I do to just myself. 

And maybe, it’s possible, that I’m not actually doing damage. Maybe doing nothing is actually productive. I don’t think so, it doesn’t feel that way, but the world doesn’t make a lot of sense to me anyway. I don’t understand it at all. I don’t know how you can love and turn out to be 100% wrong in doing so. Not to mention, this is the latest in a series of mistakes the last few years. Ones that really cut to the core of who I am. After age 30, the damage doesn’t heal the same. I believed in him, supported him, and….I thought it was real. I was wrong. I’m giving up on thinking I even know what love is from this point forward. Clearly, I do not. 

They scooped a tiny bit of my thigh. They are going to scoop a bigger portion in a couple of weeks. And then, it felt like a giant, cold, metal old timey ice cream scoop took a part of my heart. Some point in the wee hours of this morning, it all overwhelmed me. I just didn’t have the energy to keep going. What more can possibly be thrown my way? I know, it’s a horrible day of agonizing self-pity and zero optimism. You’ll have those days. This is mine. 

And then I heard a bird start chirping outside. I wanted to yell at the bird and ask what it is so damn happy about. But I thought about it and maybe the bird isn’t happy. Maybe his chirp isn’t joy. How do we know what he’s saying? Maybe he’s out there yelling that his heart hurts too and he doesn’t understand why he has to be the only bird around. Maybe he needs some help over at his nest and none of the other birds are there. It’s just a thought. 

13-ish hours later or so I’m still here and it’s totally silent. The bright sunshine is fading away and the only noise is the sound of my breath and the fan blowing on me.  Lord, trust me y’all when I tell you I hate the victim card and I hate the dark times that crush my heart. I detest them. They bring out the ugly in me. I’m just so tired of going uphill! I need a break. I am a good person. The last few years have challenged and changed me. I don’t understand why things just can’t stay on track for a while. 

I want somebody to love, a wee bit of security, to feel like my faith in something bigger isn’t meaningless, and to share all things joyous and wonderful. I guess it’s too much to ask. With each tearful goodbye, I close up a bit more. Life is scooping what’s left of me out little by little.  

I came home from work, put on shorts and started taking pictures of my thigh. See:

 
Ignore the dirty room. Or judge me. Whatever. 

I just want to remember what it looks like now because in a few weeks it will be chopped up, and–because of my skin tone being generally pasty–there is likely to forever be a scar where the bandaid is. The biopsy on what lies beneath the bandaid was “severely atypical” and so, they have to cut more out. Carve it out until they get to normal cells. 

And I’m angry, sad, brave, and hopeful. All at once. The emotions ricochet around all over the map right now. It could be worse. This I know. It’s quite likely we caught it in time and I’ll be fine. At the same time, it’s never the answer you want to hear. Why? Why now?! All was well. Life was going okay. I know I’ll wear a scar like the badass I am…and I’ll get through it like a champ. Cause that’s what I do isn’t it? Through all that life has thrown, haven’t I come out on top? 

When I left work (before the thigh photo shoot), I was greeted by a beautiful purple sunset. 

See:  

 
And I got in my car and started crying as I drove home. Purple is my favorite color. And I didn’t know if I was happy or sad. It felt like a gift from God telling me all was well. Like it was custom made for me. (There’s no filter on that FYI.) But I couldn’t help but be a little terrified. 

And I needed a sign from above. Because truth is for 24 hours all I needed to hear were those three little words and to not feel like I’m about to go to battle against the C word alone. Kudos to the friends who knew before this and have sent prayers and words of kindness. Without you, surely I would crumble.

I can take it. Hell, I always do. And if you’ll excuse the emotions and give me a minute to get my bearings, I’ll come out happier and more beautiful than ever. Cause that’s how I do it. Every damn time. But until then, excuse the mess.