Posted on by She Never Sleeps

Rebirth

It’s been a good long while since I’ve published anything to this journal. Not long after my last post, there was a pandemic followed by the very real separation from my ex husband. And to be honest, a year ago this time, I was NOT doing well.

A year ago this time, I was depressed, heart-broken, apathetic. I wasn’t eating, drinking a bit too much to escape the long hours of the night, knowing full well The Dread would still be there when I awoke, sober and unwell. I cried a lot, face splotched, eyes red and swollen, stopping only to start again. Screamed into the gaping maw of the abyss, wishing I could vanish into The Aether, disintegrate into the culminated quintessence of the outer realms.

And then there were the moments of passivity. The lethargy keeping me in bed, unbathed and indifferent to the outside world.

At those junctures, I sat with the grief. It was uncomfortable. It was loathsome. It broke me in new ways which I had not before encountered. Were it not for the care and compassion of my roommate, I probably would have made some decisions of the Not-So-Great variety.

Time trudged. Wounds bled. Sleep rarely came.

Currently, I write this feeling quite disconnected from that place I was in a year ago. Though it didn’t originally feel like it, it didn’t take too long for the clock to pick up the pace. Hours turned into days, days into weeks, etc., etc. I eventually came to accept that what I was mourning was The Potential of What Could Have Been, not What Was. And that no matter what I did, no matter how much work I put in, no matter what I would sacrifice – it would simply never Be. We were two diametrically opposed people when it came to what was necessary for us to thrive in a relationship, let alone a marriage. And I could only be responsible for my part, not his.

I threw myself into work, art, pool. Finding things to fill the empty spaces in my schedule. Soon, solitude seemed like this girl’s new best friend. I could not and would not be emotionally available for anyone. I was an island. A Remote, smack dab in the middle of treacherous waters, guarded by jagged rocks, full of poisonous fruit and wildly violent animals, Island.

To say I was at peace with this would be a marked understatement.

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Over the summer, I slowly dipped my toes back into the dating pool. I went out for dinners. Multiples were duds. I questioned my worth. I considered a nunnery. I did manage to find a couple people I liked and were all around decent humans, but there still seemed to be an emptiness within. I was content with this, though. My Island approach was perfect in keeping myself a safe distance from any usurpers to my Peace.

During this time, I reconnected with an old acquaintance whom I hadn’t really spoken to in years. We always had a mutual respect for each other and genuinely found one another pleasant to be around in group settings, but nothing truly out of the ordinary. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t always felt drawn to his energy and person, but I knew nothing would ever come of that. A harmless personality crush of which I shoved to the back of my mind. And I knew nothing would come of it now as I was enjoying my life with zero romantic commitments or things of that nature. Bit by bit, we began to a build a real friendship which never had a chance to get off the ground because of life in general. There was an immediate comfortability, an unabashed openness in conversation, an exchange of the ups and downs we had both gone through in our lives.

A mutual understanding, empathy, and compassion for the traumas we suffered but survived. Devoid of pity or condescension. It was refreshing and ultimately freeing. No pretense, no facades, just two adults being straightforwardly earnest.

One day I woke up realizing… I had been usurped.

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It’s been a couple months now. I feel things with him that I never thought possible. A warmth, a genuine understanding of why I am who I am. We share knowledge of each other which has not been outwardly exchanged. Simply an unspoken comprehension of where we’ve been, what we’ve gone through, who we are at this very moment. I have never been as emotionally available and vulnerable as I am with him. Communication is constant and key. Neither one us has ever had the idealistic idiocy to believe in the romantic notion of “Love of My Life” but we cannot shake the kismet of our being together, considering the impressions we have made upon one another and all the ways we have come in and out of each other’s lives over the past decade.

“It was never the right time” is a phrase which comes and goes. We joke about the Universe and how we had to experience the things we did in order to find our way to This Place, where we both reside. We talk for hours and hours, late into the night, fighting through the bleary eyed arrival of sleepiness just to get in one last sentence. We are happy together, sad and “homesick” when we are apart.

It is all so vomit-inducing sappy.

I am okay with this. I am not who I was a year ago. I am new, I am open, I am reborn with all the enthusiasm and faith of someone who believes in Santa Clause and making wishes upon falling stars. I look forward to the future and whatever it may hold. I am in love with a person who loves Me. The Real Me, not the idea of or a projection of what they think I should be.

And it’s fucking beautiful.

Posted on by She Never Sleeps

A banner year… Not really

I don’t even know where to begin. All of it seems almost surreal.

I’ve had friends die. Almost die. Find out they could die.
Hearts broken, relationships gone to shit, marriages end.

People I never thought I’d give a hundred and second chance, I’ve opened myself to again – hesitantly. Wearily. But with hope. Because I am a soft soul at my core and can’t help but think that there is a speck of good in everyone. That a tiny particle has the ability to grow and blossom if given the opportunity.

I’ve taken stock of the absurd, the unfortunate, the blind ignorance (and arrogance) of so many. I lose myself in contemplation often. I think too much. I always have, lately has not been any different.

I’ve finally come to accept that even if you’re direct and straighforward, others don’t necessarily feel the need to do the same.

Even if you give of yourself completely, that is not usually how another person operates.

That your own truth may not match the truth of someone else.

Sadly, I’ve also come to find that sometimes the best option is simply walking away. Not every battle is a war. That there will be moments in life when conceding defeat is a victory, even if it doesn’t seem that way at the time.

And right now, I really need to take that last part to heart.

Posted on by She Never Sleeps

Lately

It is May 21 and the weather outside could have me fooled into thinking it is October. I don’t mind it. I’ve always loved the damp and chill, an opportunity for big thick comfy sweaters, many mugs of steaming beverages brimming with warmth and the excuse for not having to travel out into world unless absolutely necessary.

Though, it would still please me if I had to.

The light drizzle dampening denim covered legs, sliding off muddy soled, screaming red red rain boots, misting my hair like tiny beads of early morning dew on wispy blades of grass… I enjoy these small details. I don’t even mind the cold which comes with it. There is a freshness, an awakening, something which just shouts in your face, “HEY! You’re Fucking Alive!” Nothing like the burning, lazy, heat soaked days which leave you sticky and stagnant. A sweaty mess of discomfort. No. Days like these, I cherish.

On days like this, I am reminded of Lancaster. And Bristol. And almost all of the rest of England and of the love at that time which took me there. I am brought back to a period of adventure and curiosity. Of passion for Life and Living. And while that former version of self has long since grown and become something other, there had long been many instances where I missed that part of Me. I had chalked it up to furthering myself into adulthood. Into a new 2.0 representative of who I had become. I was fairly certain that the Woman of the past was no longer in existence.

Yet, not long ago on a colder Saturday night, I found myself free of immediate obligations. No husband. No small children. I was able to just go out and wander a bit, if I wanted to. I, naturally, didn’t feel the urge. I wanted to drown in streaming programming while I knit and kept the company of my cats. Yet, appealing to the logic of when was the next time I’d have this kind of freedom, I headed out.

Deciding to meet up with some friends, I spent a half hour looking for parking in a part of town booming with Trend and Cool. I hated it. I was already rueing my decision to make the trip into the city. After that battle, I found them in the bar, already filling up with people. And I hated that, too. But I was determined to see through the evening, if anything for the novelty of something different. Oh but wait – there’s a band playing and you know the guys and we should go check them out? At this point, I was considering calling it a night, but no. I agreed.

Here’s where my heart had a change. Three of us, walking to the next place, and my two friends stop to talk to a guitar player and his girlfriend with the ukelele, both sitting on the sidewalk, guitar case open for monetary gifts. They have a dog and he looks sleepy, but loved. They offer up a song and my friends say, Sure.

It’s about 40 degrees out, give or take. And this thin, scraggly looking guy starts playing one of the sweetest songs I’ve ever heard. His girlfriend, reminiscent of free love and hippies, joins in with her ukelele and soft fairy-like harmonic voice. My friends begin to dance and I am moved to take some record of this occurence.

And I realized I was smiling. Happy. Relishing this presence of spontaniety and True Beauty. I held up my phone to capture the best I could what was transpiring before my eyes… I didn’t do too well because I, also, was wrapped up in the vibrancy of the moment. I was vaguely aware of cars driving by, everyone walking past rapidly, in a hurry to get to the next bar/club/whathaveyou. For a brief interlude in time, I felt like all 5 of us were in a bubble, some magical window into a mirrored dimension of being able to experience and enjoy the Here and Now with no outside interruption.

Nothing lasts forever. The song ended, my friends gave them some cigarettes and cash, we kept going to the next place – but my heart felt lighter.

Joyous.

Alive.

So.

Lately, this has been on my mind. Of course, days like these… Days which remind me of previous excursions, long past days of foolhardy carefree whimsy, days which bring to mind bits and pieces of  the romantic and idealist I used to be… I am encouraged to once again find the magic and wonder of Living as opposed to simply Existing. I know now that those fanciful qualities I thought I lost to youth have only been shoved aside, forgotten and unused. The older a person becomes, the harder that feat. With age also comes some cynicism. Some convenience. Comfortablilty. All things which would hinder the search and stunt the growth of a curious soul. However, nothing which has been worth having has ever come easy, or so I’ve been told.

*shrugs*

I guess I’ll see.

 

Posted on by She Never Sleeps

the balance of art and every day life in a dream

When the last things you do before bed is watch Hell’s Kitchen, look through your Instagram feed, comment about art, order slippers for your grandma online and curse to yourself that you didn’t do the sink full of dishes but fuck it, you’re tired so they’ll just have to be done in the morning…

You dream about sitting at your grandma’s table and talking to two local artists you admire, your best friend, Cortney and social acquaintance, Jim Terry about art and the creative process, but then the kitchen morphs into some crazy restaurant (who are all these people?) and wow all this food looks good and damn you’re hungry, but now you’re in some sort of barracks/cabin which you’re sharing with at least 6-8 other females (who the fuck are these chicks???) and you’re on a cot cuddling with the obnoxious lesbian from Hell’s Kitchen (her hair is foofy and her skin is soft at least) and you see piled Right Next to you dishes that need to be done, so you’re like Fuck. I can’t go to sleep with Soft and Foofy until these dishes are clean, so there you are… washing f**king dishes in your dream.

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1/25/16 Kindness

Today is one of those days in which I cannot turn off the introspection. I often become lost in revelries, unwanted reminiscences of the past lives I’ve lived. Of the countless mistakes of youth, poor life choices, of the ridiculous and often dangerous situations I had put myself in – note, I’ve not mentioned regret. Regret isn’t something I have very much of, at least not in the grand scheme of things. My regrets are minuscule, mostly petty and even then, taken with a grain of salt. But I digress. I suppose I must mention this because I know that Regret isn’t very useful since every crap decision and horrible thing I may have done, with or without malicious intent, has brought me to the place where I am at right now.

That, and Kindness.

My brain has moments of elephantine recollection when it comes to people who have been genuinely good-hearted to me. The same with those who have abused my heart, soul, person, etc. I may forget birthdays, what I had for dinner last week and even plans I Just Made five minutes ago, but Kindness is something that has never gone unnoticed or forgotten.

I’ve stopped. I’ve stopped to look away from the screen because this is the hurdle. This is my mountain. To sit here and purposefully remember the less than ideal circumstances I either stumbled or boldly threw myself into, with little fear or concern of consequence or reprisal. It’s a bit more difficult than I had anticipated.

I remember being a teenage runaway and having the good fortune to not have to live on the streets when a girl I met and was briefly romantic with offered to let me stay with she and her mother, not just for a day or weeks, but months. I remember when at a party, my first girlfriend covered for my dandruff flakes as Dry Shampoo – “That happens to me, sometimes”, she smiled. The unspoken understanding and gratitude over escaping embarrassment is something that still sticks with me today. Another party, when the difference between the terms “pretty” and “attractive” were being discussed and I mentioned that my father said I was Attractive. I knew what my father had meant and I suppose the usually catty gay man involved in the conversation did as well. He leaned his body back, head tilted elegantly dramatic to one side, scrutinized me with his intensely blazing blues and said, “Mmm… I’ll give you pretty.” I abashedly took the compliment but I don’t think he’ll ever quite know just how much that meant to me at that time. Or maybe, he did. Maybe he saw the insecurity in my lowered gaze, the way I tried to hide my small underdeveloped body in giant thrift store flannels and oversized jeans. Maybe he knew how much I needed an assurance that I was of acceptable human stock.

Being laid up in bed not able to move, my boyfriend’s roommate coming in to talk to me, recommending books I’d like, pretending that I didn’t look like death warmed over. A mere acquaintance becoming one of my closest friends when he loaned me the money I needed to make rent. When I tried to pay him back, his smile and laugh damn near frightened me but he merely shook his head and pushed my hand holding the money away from him. “One day, someone might need a kind of help of their own. All I ask is that you return the favor.”

And maybe this won’t seem like an act of Kindness, but to me it was. A show of Mercy, after all, aren’t the two related? I was followed by a car on my walk home one night, far too many years and several lives ago. Two men jumped out, physically assaulted me, dragged me into the vehicle and I’m not sure what would have happened were it not for the driver. Was it my pleas for release? Did I remind him of a niece, a sister, a friend? I’m not sure, but he abruptly stopped the car and told my would be captors to let me out.

I ran… I ran to the first house I saw, crazed, crying, delirious. A couple, kind in their own way, let me in. Telling me it would be okay as they waited for the police to arrive. It hurts to revisit that particular memory. That was a day that shattered my remaining trust in humankind. But – BUT – Mercy. I was shown/given Mercy. And while it took me some time to feel safe again for something as simple as walking home, I still carry an appreciation for that man who told his cohorts, “Enough.” But do not mistake my gratitude for forgiveness. I do not nor will I ever free him of his guilt or culpability, but I suppose that’s a subject for another day.

But Kindness. This – each and every act, no matter how seemingly insignificant or of a grander scale, none of them are ever forgotten. Not a one is petty or trivial. From a stranger in front of me at the drive thru buying the coffee for the person behind them to an unexpected text from a friend reminding me that I’m loved, “You’re really kind of a bitchy pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t have you in my life any other way.” I hold all of these close to remind me that the smallest act of Kindness can carry a person who’s having a rough time of it just a bit further down the road. Every day, we run about minding our own business, barely thinking about the brief interactions we have with those bustling back and forth around us. It doesn’t hurt to put some good back in a world that so desperately needs it.  And of this I am ever mindful, especially on days like these where I am most pensive and somewhat blue.

 

Posted on by She Never Sleeps

Staring at the Walls

I’ve been staring at the pictures, the paintings, the old Christmas cards that I’ve yet to take down. I’ve taken note of at least several cobwebs that I’m sure I’ll never get around to eliminating. I could probably watch any number of recorded, streaming, or dvd type material. Insomnia, the annoying gnat that I keep trying to  swipe away but to no avail.

Lack of connection. That’s on my mind. Lack of human interaction. Or perhaps, lack of the Realness which has been so hard to find. The masks everyone wears, the pretenses, the facades – right, right. The world is a stage and aren’t we all just playing our part? Some are better thespians than others, I suppose.

I’m rambling. I know. It’s the exhaustion eating at my physical desire to sleep but my brain refusing to follow suit. Like a bratty little f**king toddler, thrashing and pitching a fit – “LISTEN To ME!!! I’m NOT Tired!” But no lullabies or story reading for me. Just the walls. The walls, the quiet and my contemplation of the loneliness settling in, nuzzling it’s cold wet snout up against the bare skin of what is Me. Goosebumps and a chill in my soul. The emptiness, thick and muddy as usual, mucking up my insides.

And I know that I am alone but not alone. I know that somewhere, maybe next door or two countries over or both, someone is staring at their own walls. Possibly counting cracks, convincing themselves that tomorrow… TOMORROW! they will conquer this bullshit. It’s all just a frame of mind!

Meanwhile, I’ve started a blog. Is it a reminder? Is it an attempt at connection? Is it just a self-serving platform to see my own thoughts staring back at me from the vast social media soaked universe of the Internet?

Or maybe… I’m just tired of staring at the walls. Maybe you are, too.