Every event is a chapter in the journey. (Chapter:divorce)

I'm getting divorced.  I am 31 years old and restarting my entire life from scratch.  I don't have the hope of making a family with my partner any more, I surrendered my claim on the dogs, I've lived with a friend for 5 months while I saved money to break out of and renew my reality all while getting divorced from a man I thought I'd shared my whole life with. 

The story is a jumbled mess - one for another time, when I have been able to sort through the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle

I called my marriage. I can't properly articulate that mess right now but what I can say is that I am getting divorced.  Divorced. 

When this process first started, I rolled through a myriad of emotions.  Some days I was happy, some days I was sad, some days angry and others so lost I just flew through the motions. 

The thing I can say is that I am again in a place where I have to learn to live in the moment. I have to learn to take the happy days and the sad days and just be whatever it is I am in that moment.  The uncertainties and inconsistencies drive me crazy. I like to have things organized and nothing is.  I like knowing what to expect and how my heart will deal with situations and this was like being locked in a body I didn't know.  I was unaware of what anxiety felt like prior to this, unaware of what makes me cry or what makes me angry.  I've been trying to hold my shit together and unfortunately, it falls through my fingers like water. 

I am constantly uncertain about things I previously felt certain about- I just don't know who I am right now and it's terrifying and a bit annoying to be honest.  I feel crazy, I feel up and down and all around and a little everywhere and no where all at the same time.  My heart is simultaneously full and empty at the same time. I fear I will never love purely again. My entire world has been shattered, my ideals thrown to the floor.  I have made choices that have surprised me as well as frightened me.  I am just a hot mess really. 

Fortunately, I have begun going to therapy and currently am working on just being whatever the fuck I am right when I am. 

While that interferes with my life, I have come to the understanding that my life is not 

Black and white but shades of various color, grays and very dark blacks. Even better, I have the understanding that it's alright to not be alright in all aspects of your life and that while compartmentalizations offer immediate solace, they do not offer long term solutions. 

I am challenged to cry when I need to cry, to yell when I am angry, to hurt and grieve. And god am I grieving.  Not just the loss of A man who was but is no longer but the hopes, dreams, memories and ideals I have In my heart that has no where to go.  I grieve my choices, I grieve his actions. I am aching one day, feeling renewed another- those feelings in themselves are also cause for grief because I don't quite understand them.  

I am living in the now. If it feels like I should do it, I am doing it. If it feels like the right thing to do for me I am learning to give myself space and permission to do it. I am scared and unsteady as I walk in the new parameters of my journey.   So, that being said-

       My choices are not up for judgement. I may do things that don't make sense to you but it might not make sense to me either.  I am navigating a new journey that has no personalized manual and one that I find particularly difficult and lonely.  I am discovering what a healthy heart looks like by giving myself the permission to be. 

So, if you see me dancing- don't think I'm crazy and judge me because you can't hear my music- rejoice because I'm moving forward, in a direction that resonates so deeply in my core that It would be wrong to do anything else.  

-his beloved 

It's okay to think for yourself

I am driving like a maniac to get to work before my lunch break is over and as I am pulling in, the car in front of me comes to a complete stop at the stop sign and waits (I am assuming to look both ways for the nonexistent cars)  then proceeds to pull out.  I was sitting behind the larger car and I knew there weren’t any cars.  Obviously, there *MAY* have been some but there weren’t.  The car literally stopped simply because a stop sign was present.  After it pulls away however, I am still sitting at the stop sign thinking about the asinine societal customs that we stop thinking about and just do. 

I remember when I was younger, I really held true to the quote “character is what you do when no one is looking.”  I have tried to live a genuine life, full of integrity and honesty – to those around me but more specifically, to myself. It has been a lifelong – code of ethics if you will.  However, as I am fully integrated into our society, knowing the rules and customs, I find myself wanting to redefine my code and argue with the reasons for our actions. 

Does having good character mean following the rules? Who sets the standard for being good of character?  Does not stopping at that stop sign mean that I am bad even if no one was around?  And if it does mean that, why?  Why should I have to stop if there aren’t any cars around (after I have verified with my surroundings, not just assumed) and why should I allow myself to feel bad for not stopping just for the sake of stopping?  Why are we doing things just for the sake of doing them?  Do we even know what our own definitions are?  How many people actually sit down and think about what their actions mean and why they do them?

I have been faced with finding my center recently.  This year has been a doozy and I dropped my fucks off with every month that passed by.  I am finally in a place where I can – (although knowing our roles) disintegrate myself from the habits and focus on the why.  The root of everything we do is the reason we do it.  Does following the rules make us a good person? I don’t think so.  I can follow the rules all day but if I’m being an asshole in my head, all I’m doing is an outward display of societal collectivism.  But I am not this society.  I do not agree with a lot of the opinions, rules, facts or statements made popular by those around me.  In my disagreement, I will meet upset opinions and hurt feelings because I am disagreeing with the norm.  Therefore, I have to understand so I can reason and provide a logical argument for my behaviors or thoughts. 

I have been processing this for a while and I have just come to the conclusion that it’s okay to dare to think outside the norm.  It’s okay to have your own rules but follow the governing rules around you – IF you understand why they are there and use your mind to implement a decision based on your own logic.  We don’t have to be mindless drones.  It’s okay to think for yourself and god, I'm not apologizing anymore. The beauty and diversity we could be capable of is endless. 

Running into the storm

I could feel the tension shake the trees as the clouds formed mightily in the sky 

Twisting and curling, menacing with every wave that the winds blow

I saw the birds circling, cheering on turbulence - diving and dancing 

A primal worship of the storm's might 

The flowers dimmed their shine and huddled amongst themselves, ready for anything. 

The wind blew commands and reigned supreme, the flowers bending low in surrender

I felt the earth as it sang it's song, the tides were changing- a storm was coming 

My instinctual response shouted to go. 

I laced my shoes and tied my belt, lifted my chin and with pride I went. 

The clouds churned above me, the birds sang loud around me- I stretched my legs and fixed my shorts- and ran to the rhythm of the tension reverberating outside. My face kissed the wind as it raged around my body and on I beat, confident in my place.

Clouds twisted, darkened and moved while opening up and unleashing its wrath, slow at first - I raised my fist in the air and yelped in excitement - the tension reverberating in my chest. I kept beat on the rocks under my feet, running with the wind racing me on. I am invincible, I am free, I am as strong as this storm. 

Slowly, fat drops of rain began beating the pavement and I looked around as I stumbled.  I wasn't in time with the space around me, I sputtered at the knowledge that I was at the mercy of the storm around me. Still I ran on, more aware - less confident. 

Lightening cracks the sky as the rain soaks me to the core. My glasses, long since removed, prove no clarity around me. I am blinded by my frailty as well as the rain pelting me so frequently in the face that I longed for something to shield me. 

The winds stormed around me and I am finally aware. I have awakened. My strength is spent and I am small amongst the universe.  The rain pelts on.  I have no control over my fate, I can only run faster.  Maybe a little less sure now, I gasp for breath as fear chokes me - the second crack of lightening blasts to my left.  

Too confident in my original abilities, I become aware of my place in this world.  I have no created anything, I have no control over anything. I am at the mercy of the universe.  Still, I run on- my soul mingling with the storm, something I have no right to be a part of yet have pushed my way into. 

And then.

I have been transcended- in a mixture of adrenaline, endorphins and blissful joy at the craziness of being in the midst of something so powerful I run through the rain and let go of all I am for all I am.  To live through this would be brilliant. To die, would be brilliant. I have given up the illusion of control and I float on the intoxication of surrender.

I am one in the universe and the universe is in me and I have found fear, peace and answers to pain while I run through this storm. The metaphor makes me roll my eyes but I am running to make it. I run to discipline myself. Now while running, I have found myself. 

As I plow through the storm with the knowledge of myself, raw from discovery, I am confronted by my faith.  I feel god in this storm and I am afraid. I just know that I'm having a "job" moment and I remember what surrender feels like.  Knowing I have not created any of this I am humbled and awed by the force I am experiencing. How much stronger? How much bigger? 

I found myself as I ran but as I ran, god reminded me of who I am.  

Embracing the suck

You know that scene in Cinderella at the very end when she overcomes her circumstances, bags the prince, gets free of her stepmother and sisters and finally has a shot at a happy ending? The premise being, of course, that true love exists and fairy tales come true *eventually*

When I dream of things in my future, I don't dream about all the bad things that can (and could realistically happen) I envision all the happy potential I will enjoy once I get to my Cinderella moment. But what if those moments aren't the reason you're on this particular journey? What if it sucks so bad and your only option is to ride the suck? 

I recently planned a bike ride, all sunny and perfect in my head.  When it came time to bike however, the rain was falling so blasphemously that all I could do was stare in disbelief because I was Cinderella- I had the drive, the bike and the destination but I wasn't riding in a fairy tale. That bike ride was hard, cold and wet but I had to do it to get home so I had to just do it.  I raged inside at the complete audacity of nature to ruin my fairy tale bike ride.  

But that's the thing about fairy tales.  Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White- the stories all stop at the beginning of their fairy tale.  You don't know how hard it was for Cinderella to run a castle or if Snow White had a mental illness, Sleeping Beauty obviously had some health issues after she woke but we don't think about those things.  And for the sake of argument, if we did think about those things, we certainly wouldn't be able to really *know* what living with those extra variables did to their fairy tale. 

I think the reason we like the idea of a fairy tale is that it makes our struggle worth it.  All the bad for the good. But life isn't like that.  It ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes, hills and valleys etc etc.  My biggest struggle is to stop trying to live the Disney idea of a fairy tale and let life's tale happen. 

This has been something I've become aware to as I've learned how to incorporate discipline into my life.  ((Just a side note - discipline sucks- but in a good way I think))

I have learned how to find a goal, make a plan and then just keep fighting for that goal, despite my feelings, my failures, my insecurities and the overall desire to be "happy." But even my definitions for all these things have changed in the few months I've strived.  I argue with myself because I don't want to confront it ( or believe it) but in reality, we make our fairy tales.  We choose how to react when things get hard, we choose how to deal when we find feelings we aren't comfortable with and we choose how the story plays out. 

Life is not in our hands.  I didn't choose what happened to you in your life any more than I chose what has happened to me.  For a long while, (I realize now) I just ducked my head and tried to wait it all out. Just get through it, I have done that my entire life- just hold on long enough for things to get better.  

But as I discipline myself, I realize - I was still hiding from the sucky parts of life.  I found distractions in work, relationships and the complexities they provide, food, drink - u name it and I'm sure I've turned my face to it.  But. Grinning and bearing it, holding on till the happy comes, any other lame platitude - it doesn't actually help because I'm hiding from the wave of whatever makes me uncomfortable still- I needed to learn to ride the suck. To be able to embrace that there will be hard times in my life and there may never be a perfect fairy tale ending because we never see the endings. My ending is what I will make of it and I think we can only know how to do that proficiently when we learn to accept the suck and embrace life as it comes. 

Dare I hope?

I covered myself in a shield of your words, 

Darting and furling with the strength of a hurricane.  I repeated the words, hurled in anger over and over until I could hear no others 

I carried my bitterness like a trophy on my back, martyred in the injustice of my broken ideals.  Intimate reminders of stolen kisses and unstoppable laughter a remnant of another world, replaced with sighs and distrust.

I carried on with my pride as it strengthened my resolve while I walked with my judgments held high, broken heart leaving a bread trail in case I'd ever find the way back to happy and normal.

These defenses weighed me down and blackened my soul- lonely and aching at the loss of my source of strength.  Your presence blew around me but I cowered with my walls, aching to grab hold but fighting to push you away.  The pain I felt in feeling you, cut me deeper still and I faced the storm to surrender. Apathetic. You win. Fuck you. I can't win this war. I can't fight what I don't know. 

I plan to let go and I hate myself.  I can't stand in this storm for you without you.  I can't stand in this storm alone.  But hope strikes the stone I've created as a heart and brings light to my soul, if only - if only, do I dare hope? 

You pass by again, seeing me like you haven't - your hand on my shoulder and the words I desperately need to hear whisper in my ear: "I want this to work."  My melting heart turns to mush and I almost miss your touch. 

My walls crumble, pride is spent, bitterness pours off my heart and I am left standing in the middle of the storm. Again alone, the touch of you left branded on my core- dare I hope? Dare I hope. Against my better judgement (damn walls, where are you?) I believe you.  

Take a deep breath and hold on because this isn't going to be easy but I'm coming to find you, and I'm coming to bring you home.  We can rebuild what this storm has damaged, I will learn with you. All I have are my hands (empty) and a heart that doesn't know what it's doing. 

I step into the storm blind but my heart says this is the right way.  Dare I choose to believe? Dare I hope?  

You've never looked more beautiful

I am temporarily blinded by the dark when I open the door to her home. Stale smoke and sweat cuts through the stuffy nose I was fighting and I shut the door behind me. As my eyes adjust, I see her form, tiny under the covers.  Stepping silently into the room, I look around at her life. 

The bedspread that you were so proud of, full of cigarette burns and near misses.  The medicine coursing through your veins undoubtedly had an obvious effect.  Your humidifier is empty, belied only by the red light shining in the corner.  Remnants of the protein shakes lie half filled in cups scattered about your bedside table. A box full of medicine lies open next to you, saving grace that it is. 

You take a deep breath and I am drawn to your face- sunken, sallow, outlined by your skull.  Your hair has grown and after weeks of it being gone, I am still not used to seeing it on your head. Your collar bone, so prominent, reveals the depth of your illness, the cancer that ravages and depletes your strength.  As I come near you, you wake, black eyes unfocused as they stare at me. 

I help you sit up and we fall into pace with each other. 

You're sweaty, I can see it on your face and you feel gross, you've mentioned on more than one occasion.  I run your bath, taking care to move potential tripping hazards from your path.  I pour lavender Epsom salts and bubble bath into the steaming water in the hopes it will bring you peace. The bathroom has been transformed into a sanctuary.  Come find rest. 

The tea is done and we must have a cup before we do anything.  We talk over the rim of our glasses; heavy topics that neither of us have any answer for- Life and death, heaven and hell, pain and peace, being alone. My heart is flooded with love for her, despite my best defenses of protecting myself.  Healthy boundaries has been my mantra of late, and I'm finding it difficult to adhere. She's just so damn likeable, dammit. 

I finish my tea and try to coax her out of her bed- a task that is becoming harder and harder as the days pass.  Finally, with the promise of clean sheets she sighs and stumbles into the bathroom to pee.  Our conversation follows the normal pattern of asking personal questions about her toileting habits and her unabashed answers. I help her slip off her clothes and hold her lithe frame as she steps into the hot water.  Her body visually relaxes and the strain of her illness seems to melt from her face.  

She closes her eyes and sinks back to lay, covered by the water, in a place where she finds relief from her torments.  I watch her as the steam swirls around her.  Her tiny body sporting the remains of a figure ravaged by time. Bubbles stick to the skin from her arms and she sighs, content. Not one to miss a cigarette break she pulls one from the pack I laid out for her and I light it in silence. 

When I look back at Lloydene, I know this moment has already been branded in the depths of my heart - I want to remember this moment.  She pulls her knees to her chest and lays her head on them, long lit cigarette dangling from her thin fingers.  She is tired and worn but never more herself in all her insecurities, fears and hopes.  Her essence was pure- accepted and resigned.  How honored I was to be able to behold such a raw look at the soul of a person. 

She is ready to lay back down so she washes her face and I scrub her back.  She unsteadily rolls to her knees to try and stand to which I lift her wobbly frame from the tub.  I wrap her in her towel and put her in her new purple robe, coveted as one of the few gifts from her beloved sister. She rubs her hands down the robe, feeling like a little girl and royalty all in one. She takes a look in the mirror and sighs, shoulders dropping and I help her to her room. 

I change her sheets, painting a picture of how nice she will feel when she crawls back in. She sits on the chair in the corner, huddling into her robe sipping the vestiges of her tea while she talks to me. When I am finished, I pull the corner back invitingly with a knowing smile. I know what she wants.  She sits on the side of the bed and I help her into her shorts.  She sighs again this time as she stretches out into her nicely changed bedding.  I offer her a smoothie- the food of choice for the past six months, and she declines in favor of another cigarette chased with copious amounts of pain medicine.  

She sits and smokes while I finish putting the bathroom back together and refill her air humidifier. I make sure she has enough water until the next person comes to see her and when I return to her room I find her curled under her blankets with her eyes closing.  

Thank you she whispers, that's what I've been needing all along.  

I am honored that the gift I have bestowed upon her today is a feeling that comes from good places - places like chicken soup when you're sick or hot cocoa on a cold day. That feeling that everything will be okay despite itself. 

I kiss her cheek and feel the bones of her face under her softly washed skin - she has never been more beautiful to me. 

Companions for the journey home

There is a woman who goes to chemo on the days that lloydene goes.  She wears a blue saggy cloth hat to keep her head warm while she sits in the slightly chilly infusion room. 

She was laying under a blanket on a gurney-improvised-bed. She was gentle and her bright blue eyes blazed through her white paper thin skin, stretched taught over the bones of her face.  Her clothes hung from her, a gentle reminder of the weight she'd lost as she waged her battle with cancer.  She carried a champions flag that day as it was her very very last day of treatment and her numbers were looking good.  She carried herself with an air of exhausted regal champion-hood. She was as graceful as a ballet dancer and her refined laugh sung when I told her so.  Trudy- lithe and beautiful had finished her chemo and was looking towards the future. 

When Trudy met us, we were just settling into our chairs for the 6 hour wait while lloydene received her chemotherapy. We talked and shared our congratulations and wished her good luck as her husband, whom walked with a wooden cane and a stiff leg took her home.  Trudy and lloydene had met as people dealing with the same thing but she had finished the race and was way  ahead of us.  They were at different points if the journey and their paths were destined to separate.  The knowledge crackled in the air between them. 

Lloydene is here for her second round of chemo, third infusion.  Her body is tired and thin.  She is so weak, she favored the gurney-bed.  As she lays down, and snuggles into the blanket, feeling miserable, a woman stands up with her iv pole.  I wouldn't have noticed her but the nurses saw the impending trip hazard of her iv stand and blanket on the floor and made quick moves to help her.  It took me a minute to recognize her but once the blanket was fully removed from her stockinged legs I was pleased to remember -The ballet dancer, Trudy! 

I moved off the end of the gurney-bed and lloydene struggled to sit up. 

"No no, don't get up, don't get up" Trudy whispered, her blue eyes watering. "I just want to sit close with you, you might not remember me"

The ballet dancer, I said excitedly and her eyes crinkled with a nod and a smile. 

She sat down carefully and grabbed Lloydene's hand, asked how she was doing and told her how glad she was to see her. 

Lloydene asked why she was here and she looked down. 

"It's not good news" she said through shaking breath. She held Lloydene's hand and straightened, trying to be brave for lloydene, seeking solace in the company of someone who understands that fear of impending death. Trudy's cancer might have spread to her abdomen.  The air of the champion had left her only to be replaced with clouds of fear. She was scared and lost and defeated.  She had stepped back on the path of the journey but the end looked considerably closer for her and the odds were stacked against her.  She was again fighting, but how would it look for her this time? 

They sat on the gurney-bed until it was too hard for them to sit up.  They were quiet, holding hands and hugged each other after Trudy stood up to walk back to her chair.  "We're all going to die sometime" Lloydene said out loud, mainly to herself. A reminder to bring the unreal a reality. 

In all this time, Lloydene hasn't brushed against someone else near the end of their path. Trudy and Lloydene were able to invite one another into their hearts and accept each other for who they were on the premise of knowing something none of us can understand.  They were able to join souls and find a comfort in one another if only for a moment to find solace in their shared sadness. 

Their companionship was sweet in the air as they both drifted to sleep and now instead of different places in the race, suddenly they were a team.