The Grieving Ladybug

The Ladybug...

2011-01-30T08:31:00.000-08:00

Shortly after meeting Rob, he felt it important to have some sort of pet name for me. Not long after he made this declaration he decided this name would be “ladybug”. I’ve been obsessed with the red and black winged insect for nearly fifteen years so it made sense and made me smile.
I was one devastated lil bug when I found out I would no longer hear his voice say “Hey ladybug…” hence the name of my blog being what it is. After his funeral Nathan pointed out that life from here on out would be my “new normal”. I wasn’t looking for a “new normal”. I liked my “normal” normal thankyouverymuch.
Whether or not I liked it, adjustments had to be made. Processing of this loss had to happen along with every day life. Writing lets me process as well as talking to people, creating, or even taking some time out to talk to Rob. One day at a time a new normal was created and, one day at a time is still being created. Some days are like giant abstract paintings full of bright energetic colors, revelations, epiphanies and the like while some days are photographs of lush, captivating landscapes that seen to go on forever and still some are gray, full of clouds and rain.
With the loss of Rob nearly three years behind me I have grown and changed more than I ever have before. There have been plenty of set backs, icky, messy days, but also so many days full of more light and wonderfulness than I ever thought possible. Without the experience of his love and acceptance of who I am as a whole person I would have no idea how to recognize it today.
I used to lose my mind when, shorty after Rob died, mom would remind me that I would find someone else. I knew this. I just needed time to move through the current situation. For a little while I didn’t know how to be with someone else. I hated that I was attracted to Pete back in Atlanta. I hated that I wanted to go on a date with him. In the end my curiosity got the best of me and kept one foot in front of the other in acknowledging that dating someone doesn’t discount what I had. Pete was easy though. I was moving and he was still in law school. I didn’t feel there was much to lose because the loss had already practically happened when we, in not so many words, knew this wouldn’t last after I left.
Then, in walked Jeff, or should I say I walked in…to his place of employment and everything changed once again. Upon meeting him, going on a date with him, and choosing to walk this path with him, I found a kind of love that I’m not sure would ever exist for me. I’m used to dramatic encounters, always on a high of some sort. With Jeff the “high” is that of a stable, normal, loving relationship. One I can sink my feet into. It’s something I’m learning to open doors to, invite him in and allow him to love me while reciprocating that love. Writing those words feels very familiar. I had an idea of what that kind of love was like before it turned into something else, pulling us apart and into different worlds. I have remained grateful for the experience but I never knew I’d be grateful because it taught me to see, understand and give back that kind of love to someone else. It wasn’t a lesson I thought I was going to have to learn in the way I’m learning it. It’s been one of my biggest challenges in this grieving process, loving someone else with every ounce of my being and doing my absolute best to trust that he’s there and it really is ok.
All that being said, my “new normal” has moved again to another kind of normal. It’s one where I’m spending time (as guiltlessly as possible…) cultivating more creativity, learning more about myself, inside and outside of my grief, all while continuing to grow in my relationship with this wonderful, beautiful, incredible person that I love more than I ever thought possible.
I won’t stop writing here but my focus is shifting to other ideas and subject matter. I think it’s time I start taking baby steps into something else, being a ladybug that is not grieving so much but something else, something I can’t describe yet. I’ve recently began sharing other parts of myself on a new blog titled www.theredsquirrelsnest.blogspot.com. Ironically enough I chose the title because Jeff has said that I remind him of a squirrel. It made me laugh and I found it fitting and so the title and blog were born! Here I’m working more on finding my creative voice and expressing what that looks like for me. It’s a difficult process as well being I don’t let many people into this part but I hope to learn one entry and image at a time.
Words cannot express the amount gratitude I have for all of you that have followed me through this excruciating time, helping me along with your kindness, understanding and presence. It has meant the absolute world to me. I love you.

Letting go..?

2011-01-11T19:43:00.000-08:00

Writing feels really hard right now but talking feels even harder and I feel I want this out somehow so here I am, staring at my computer screen willing the words to work themselves out to form sentences that might reflect back at me (and youJ) what’s going through my head.
When writing gets hard (I’m not sure I’ve written about this so forgive me if I’ve already explained it) I cut out pictures of magazines and glue them into a small journal that I bought shortly after moving here. It’s recently expanded to doing this on canvas and currently, in a large watercolor book. I don’t think much about the process, I just know that I need to do it if I can’t talk or write. Nine times out of ten what is bugging me is reflected back at me with these chosen images. Sometimes, rarely actually, I either put it away before really getting into it, or what I come up with makes no sense to me.
I shared with a client not too long ago about Rob and losing him. I’m not sure why I told her. I don’t share much about my life with her. She shared that her sister lost her boyfriend five years ago to suicide and has recently gotten married. It was so relieving to tell her about Rob. She listened, and told me it was ok to say what I wanted.
After I finished her hair, I felt I needed to take a walk, cry, or something. I ate instead and became annoyed with a co-worker wanting to talk about something I tuned out. I suddenly felt raw, and wanted to remove myself entirely…from this situation, from the building, from this strange feeling that threatens to overwhelm me should I let it.
Jeff was my last haircut and we went to dinner afterwards. I wanted to tell him about my client but chose not to. Every time I want to talk about Rob or grief, some kind of wall shoots up and intercepts all my words, shoving them back in my mouth, shutting it, locking it, and tossing the key. This has little to do with him and more to do with the fact that talking about Rob makes me vulnerable in a way I feel I can’t handle, so I push it away. It’s hard enough for me to process on my own, but to tell someone else? Someone I’m in a relationship with? I don’t know where to start with that one.
Monday was the next day and I felt myself getting squirrelly, still not talking. By Tuesday I was crying so much that by my lunch break I was desperate to leave work, but stayed anyway. I called Beth asking to see her either Wednesday or Thursday. Wednesday it is.
Later, I texted my friend Derek saying I felt I was being eaten up with grief. “I’m trying to sit with and be ok with it because it is what it is today but it’s killing me…”
He texted back “Don’t sit with it, go use that energy and create something with it.”
Excellent. I will do just that. My head starts bouncing around ideas and I’ve practically imagined what I’m going to paste.
On Wednesday before seeing Beth, I stopped by Blick downtown and bought a 12x12 canvas. This one is rather small compared to my other ones but I’m finding it to be perfect.
“So what’s going on?” Beth asks as I’m settled down on the couch in front of her.
I shake my head already trying not to cry. “I…I had this client come in on Sunday…”
I explain all of that and my lack of willingness to talk.
“Hmm. I wonder…I wonder if you need to talk to Rob.” she suggests. “Tell him about some things that you wish you two could have done. What are some things you feel he’s missed out on?” Beth stood up from her chair and took her coat, and a pillow and arranged it on the table next to me.
“Ok, we’ll pretend this is Rob. Here are some tissues, just incase.” she sits down again. “So just tell him. Anything.”
I might explode into a million pieces. I almost wish I would. I have no idea where to start. It feels silly because he’s been here the whole time, watching all of us live our lives as best we can. I feel I’d be repeating myself but I’m willing to try anything at this point.
“We were supposed to go to Charleston in May but he died in April.” I almost whisper. I’m not looking at Beth or “Rob”, but at the door between them. I smile, tears falling. “We also talked about simply driving around Anderson, where he lived with no agenda, just driving. Usually these things don’t appeal to me, but with him, it didn’t matter, as long as we were together. I feel I get a little crazy now when Jeff and I talk about doing things then end up not doing them or making plans because I feel I never know when we may not get the chance again. I feel I have to do absolutely everything always.”
“Is there anything you’d like to say to Rob about things he’s missed?” Beth asks.
I can’t speak. Tears fall and fall until I’m able to catch my breath. “Everything. Being here, in Chicago, and everything I’ve done and seen. I have this weird attachment to Art+Science. After I interviewed with them, I called Rob while I was standing on the train platform, snow still on the ground in March, explaining everything that I would have to do as an assistant, like a teach-back at the end of the program and class every Monday for eight hours. I was more than willing to go ahead with it. When the time came to actually do my teach-back I was a hot mess thinking he should be here with me now. I should be able to call him and tell him about what I was doing.”
“Is there anything you wish you had said when he was still here?” Beth asked.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I told him everything. The last thing I said to him before he left my house the day he died was “I love you.”
“You two have a very strong connection, even now.” Beth observes.
I nod.
“I’m wondering if you need to let go of each other. It feels like he needs to let go as much as you need to. Maybe not entirely leaving each other but get to a place where this doesn’t consume you. Like, maybe set up a time where you can spend time with him, talk to him, or whatever you’d like and leave at that instead of having him consume all of you. How does that sound?”
Scary. I’m nervous. I’m willing. At the same time though I feel my grip on this tighten, threatened with the idea of further loss. I try to acknowledge that I’m doing what I’ve always done, held on with an incredibly intense grip to anything that I might lose, good or bad. I’m hoping that by acknowledging it, I’ll actually be able to let go. It’s not budging yet. I sigh.
“I’m willing to try it.” I say.
“Again, this doesn’t have to happen, it’s just a suggestion, but I think it’s going to be important for you two to loosen your grip on each other so you can live a full life here. I think that in some ways you keep yourself from having fun, engaging, or being fully open to Jeff because of this.”
I nod. I do.
Later I’m in my apartment, my collage project strewn all over my living room, Pandora playing on my laptop some soft piano-heavy music, mismatched pajamas cover my chilled body, and a picture of Rob rests on top of the loveseat. I wander around the coffee table, sifting through all the images I have spread out there, my fingers grabbing certain ones and setting them aside. There is no rhyme or reason to this, just whatever jumps out at me. While doing this, I’m glancing at the smiling image of Rob’s 26 year old face, feeling all of it’s familiarity but distance at the same time. It’s been two and half years, yet it feels like an hour ago that he was just here, or I just hung up the phone after some epic three hour conversation.
“Hi.” I “say” to the image in my head and sigh. I feel silly. I talk to him all the time but this feels a little unnatural. I begin to arrange the images on the canvas. I drew a sketch of something similar a couple of weeks ago. It’s amazing to me that I’ve fashioned these magazine images to resemble the sketch without meaning to.
I sit on the coffee table and face the loveseat, and begin to glue the images on the canvas. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m sorry.” I tell Rob’s picture. “I’m listening though, if you want to say something to me.”
I pick up a picture of a bird, and turn it over. A weird mix of letters and numbers that look like random codes or something litter the page, but in the top right hand corner, the words “I love you” are clear as day. A fresh wave of tears start and as they subside, I get back to the canvas, arranging, gluing, and staring at it until I finish.
There is no sadness as I do this, cry, think, and remember. Just a knowledge of what was, what is, and the fact that he is somewhere and I’m here wondering what to do next.

Six...

2010-12-10T18:59:00.000-08:00

It was like having a plug pulled out of some lost buried part of me that sent the tears streaming down my face. “Six.” I choked, air leaving my lungs. “I have no idea why I’m saying this. Nothing happened to me. I don‘t know what it is.”
“Nothing has to happen to you for you to shut it off.” Abby replied, her warm brown eyes taking in my slobbery image.
I’m on my back, my body stretched out on a massage table. My eyes had been closed at first and then she asked me the question…
I know it’s been forever since I’ve written. It’s not like I’ve forgotten. I think about writing every day. I do write every day. There is so much I’d like to write that there isn’t enough time in this life to get it all out. That feeling is so overwhelming that I tend to do nothing about it. I let it sit until I’m ready to scream. Right now, today, screaming isn’t violent enough. It’s not loud enough, not expressive enough to fully exorcise whatever it is that is fuming inside me. I tried to feed her to shut her up, tried to talk her out, tired pulling her out, tried yelling at her to get out but nothing is working so here I am, desperately needing to share this but feeling terrified, embarrassed, even a bit confused, but I’m here. Writing right now feels like a delicious drink of water on a hot day, so maybe this is what I’m after. I just went after it in the most round about way.
Jeff and I have been abiding by our date nights and not over stepping those boundaries too much. Sometimes the lines get blurred a little but for the most part we set aside time each week for a date. In the mean time we see each other when we can. I’m still working on being more open to him and with him. Parts of me are still so very frightened. They’re still insanely terrified that I will lose this wonderful person/relationship, because it’s happened before…why wouldn’t it happen again? Jeff is adorable, and so very precious to me in ways I can’t articulate even to myself. So Imma do it, scared or not. Thank God he’s patient and willing. I’m defiantly seeing that I’m going to have to talk, open up to let him in if this is ever going to be 100%. Thing is, I thought I was doing a decent job but I’m no where near open. There are glimpses of this openness though so I don’t entirely feel like a lost cause, I just get stuck sometimes.
Also with Beth’s encouragement, I’ve managed to begin selling my jewelry on etsy.com. (www.sweetladybee.etsy.com) All I needed it seemed was a little push. I’ve gotten so wrapped up in being a perfectionist, wanting my pictures to be flawless that I kept dragging my feet on this endeavor. The pictures aren’t perfect. They won’t be. I have no idea what I’m doing but I’m doing the best that I can. At least I have a starting point. I’ve made a place where I can edit accordingly. I couldn’t edit without the images being up so this whole thing was simply remaining a daydream until now.
Now I’m entertaining attaching another blog to the page chronicling my creative pursuits and life as I know it right now. That would mean, although I’m not sure yet, putting this one down except for writing on anniversaries like Rob’s birthday, (his would be 29th was Oct 23) the day we met, (Feb 10th,’08) and the day he died (April 20, 08) and any other situation I might feel like displaying. This idea is still bouncing around my head. I’m not sure I’m ready to really give this one up just yet and start another one. I’m not sure how to start really. That is the most paralyzing part, not knowing where to start. That first sentence is most agonizing but again, I’ll have nothing to edit if I don’t put it down.
Last Saturday, I asked one of my clients what she was going to be doing after her hair cut.
“I’m going to see an energy healer.” she replied.
“Really.” I stopped cutting to look at her in the mirror.
“Yeah, my mom got me started on that when I was really young. My aunt told me about this woman. She’s naturally gifted. She didn’t learn it or anything, she‘s been given this talent.”
“Really.” was all I could manage again as I pick up another section of her wet hair, and cut it accordingly. I’ve done this twice before, this energy work. I’ve enjoyed it both times but there this something about my client and the way she’s speaking about her lady that has me awfully intrigued. We both go back and forth about why we go, our confidence issues and past stuff that we want to work through. I ask her if this woman can communicate with people who have passed on.
“You know, I’m not sure.” my client tells me. “I actually think I’m going to ask her that today when I see her. I lost my boyfriend in 2008.”
I stopped cutting again. “Me too!”
“What? Really?”
“Yup.” I nod. I find out that my client’s boyfriend committed suicide on March 16th.
She gets it. Immediately we have this understanding sitting between us, that binds us together they way we aren’t bound to other people. I don’t have to say another word, don’t have to explain anything, because she’s been there.
We talk about dating and how we’re both terrified to experience that again, God forbid something happen a second time. I’m doing my absolute best to return my focus to her hair, tears blurring my view of what I’m supposed to cut.
“You have to see Abby.” my client tells me. “Please go see her. I’ll leave you her card.”
“I will.” I say it and mean it. I’m going to call her as soon as I finish drying my client’s hair.
Except I’m running late now and instead of quickly picking up the phone, or getting my next client, I’m locked in the bathroom, eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling out anyway, hands gripping the sink, desperate for a release of emotion I’ve managed to keep in for nearly an hour. Almost as quickly as I entered, I’m exiting, cheeks dry, happy face in place, deep breaths filling my lungs…
On Thursday I’m sitting in a coffee shop I’ve never been to trying to write. I’m to get on a bus soon and head over to Abby’s. It’s a beautiful day with bright sunshine and temperatures that feel like spring instead of a late Midwestern fall. A woman is across from me on a couch yelling into her cell phone. Something about her son’s birthday not being correct on an airline ticket. This woman has already been on my last nerve since she walked in. This tantrum makes it worse and I leave, wanting to walk and calm down before I get to Abby’s. I don’t want to bring all that crazy into her home.
I find the bus and get to her place. She lives in a high rise and I’m buzzed up by the concierge. I enter her small space and meet her as she’s making a pasta dish.
“Melissa! So good to meet you! Annie spoke so highly of you!” Abby smiles, shaking me hand.
I laugh and tell her that she spoke very highly of her too.
“Come in, let’s talk before we get started.” she tells me before instructing me to take off my shoes and leave them on the mat at the door.
I further enter her space which is cream colored and brightly sit with sunlight.
“Have a seat.” she motions toward the table and chairs. I do and smile across the way at her. “Tell me what brings you in.”
“Good question.” I sigh. “I’m having trouble getting in my own way when it comes to doing creative things. I make jewelry and want to write a book. Doing hair brings in my income but there are these other things I want to accomplish as well. I’ve got a lot of confidence issues surrounding these things.”
Abby nods.
“Also, I lost my boyfriend in a car accident two years ago so there’s that. I’m currently in a relationship that is wonderful but I’m having a hard time being open and allowing that relationship to happen because I’m so scared of losing it.”
“Of course you are! You experienced a tremendous loss. Sometimes, we go into a period of healing, kind of like wearing a cast where not much may happen creatively. Eventually though, it does happen, we just have to give it time.”
I nod. “I’m impatient. I’ve given it almost three years and am at a point where I don’t know what to do with it. I’m trying to put one foot in front of the other…”
She nods again. “That’s all you can do. His death, your experience with all of this at such a young age has opened you up to a kind of wisdom that most people don’t experience until much later in life. People your age are getting married and having children, not losing their significant others.”
I nod trying not to cry. I know it’s ok to cry but can’t seem to allow it to happen in front of people anymore. Not in front of her, Jeff or even Beth, the woman I freakin’ pay to listen to me.
Abby tells me a little about herself. She doesn’t see or hear well but her sense of touch is sharp. Upon touching people she can reach all sorts of different parts of them. She noticed that she was different at a very young age. Her grandmother has a similar gift and encouraged Abby to not shy away from hers. Abby would pick up on emotions from other people and is quite introverted. A part of me relates to this without speaking up and saying so. Later, I reveal this when she begins to set up the massage table.
“Are you empathic?” she asks.
“In a very small way, yes.” I reply. “I can pick up on my client’s energies pretty well. It becomes a problem sometimes when someone is overwhelming. I get sucked in.”
“Yes. You have a very bright energy about you but you’re very respectful. Sometimes people are all over the place.”
“I completely understand!” I laugh.
When everything is set up she asks me to lay face up on the table. I do so and stare at the ceiling.
“Melissa, this is your time ok? If anything becomes uncomfortable for you or I’m saying too much just let me know.”
I close my eyes and nod. I want whatever she wants to give. I hear her inhale and exhale. Her hands haven’t touched me when she speaks.
“You haven’t begun to touch your grief. You haven’t been present in your body in a very long time. You judge yourself very harshly.” Her hand touches my head, and tears come. “Am I right?”
“Yes.” I whisper.
Her hands continue to move down my head and over my ears. “You’re running on endurance alone. Operating like this hasn’t made any room for creativity. It’s like you’re running a marathon with no fuel. You’re like a pressure cooker right now. I’m going to touch some acupuncture points to help ease the pressure in your head.”
I feel her fingertips on the tops of my ears. While I don’t feel much going on through out my body, I feel her hands heat up. She’s quiet until she moves around to the side of me and asks the question that had me instantaneously crying. We talked earlier about me being empathic, picking up on other people’s feelings and energies. I feel a lot with my clients mostly but have been able to tune into my friends, co-workers and sometimes, Jeff… a little. I’m scared of it and don’t acknowledge it’s happening always.
“I’m going to ask you a question.” Abby says to me. “I don’t want you to think about it much or analyze it, just answer with the first thing that comes to your mind.”
I nod.
“How old were you when you first shut off the empathic part of yourself?”
Enter the tears and the answer being “six”.
I’m confused now. I don’t understand what’s going on or what part of me said “six.”
“I feel it was earlier than that. I feel like you were three, four, five, maybe six.” she tells me.
“Nothing happened though.”
“Nothing has to happen. You may have walked past someone who just committed a crime and got scared and shut it off. Kids are very perceptive but have a hard time processing things so they tune out, shut off.”
The rest of the session was relaxing and I felt like a million dollars when I left. I walked for a while before finding the train and heading home. I was dying to share this with Jeff but when he came over I shut off. I got into the story a little bit before telling him that I was getting on my own nerves hearing myself talk and I shut off.
“I feel like you don’t want me here.” he says later while fixing dinner.
“Of course I do.” I tell him. I don’t know what’s going on, talking just feels too hard. Maybe one day…or maybe not. I’m not sure.
The following week was pretty tumultuous. I cried a lot, wrote even more, made several pieces of jewelry and eventually told Jeff. Whatever Abby did, she unlocked something and I’m itching to go back and see what else might happen but want to give it some more time, letting the dust settle a little bit from this session before diving into another…

Black and White...

2010-12-10T18:52:00.000-08:00

It’s Thursday and I’m sitting across from Beth in her office. I swear she’s like a dose of crack. I so look forward to our appointments. I tell her that I’ve been hanging out with Jeff despite my telling him that I can’t have contact with him because it’s too freakin’ hard. Yet, I can’t seem to get enough of him either. I don’t understand.
“I don’t think this needs to be so black and white.” Beth offers. “I think that you can have time to yourself and your relationship, if you want.”
I nod, letting that roll around in my head for a minute. Do I think in terms of black and white? All or nothing? Of course I do… if I didn’t I probably wouldn’t be in this predicament.
“I think you guys need to set some very clear boundaries and not over step them. Set up one or two nights a week for dates and leave it at that. If you choose to see each other more, make that decision but don’t let a brunch date go all day if that isn’t what you’ve planned. That way you know you’re going to see each other which frees you both up to do other things.”
I nod again. “I like this idea, we just do a very good job of letting things go overboard.”
“You consume each other and that’s when you run into problems.” she reminds me.
“Yup.”
“Is this something you want to try?” she asks.
“It is. I’m just scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of having it not work, of going over board again and ending up where we are now.”
“That’s why it’s important to talk about it. When you’re feeling things are getting out of control again you’re going to have to say something to him. I really feel like this is fixable.”
I nod. “Me too.” a smile slowly spread across my face. “So. He’s working now. Should I just call and ask him to meet up?”
“I don’t see why not.” she smiles back at me.
“Oh I’m excited!” I laugh. Suddenly, a solution has presented itself and I’m ecstatic.
When I leave her office, I call Jeff and leave him a message. He later agrees to meet me. We decide to go to Millennium Park where I relay the details of my visit with Beth.
“So…you wanna try this?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes.”
I’m bursting, and relieved all at the same time, ecstatic and grateful that he’s willing to try this. We decide to set up a date for next week and walk out of the park, my hand in his, as it’s closing.

Eat, Pray, Love...

2010-10-07T09:41:00.000-07:00

One of my clients, we’ll call her Jane, told me that each night before she goes to sleep, she lights candles and talks to her “angels”. She tells them about her day, what she wants, her fears etc… then she asks them what they want to tell her. She’s been doing this for so long that she’s become quite good at “hearing” them, letting them guide her. I feel Rob is my guide and have for a long time now but I never stopped to ask, “what do you want to tell me?” I’m usually asking for things, sometimes yelling to him to “fix” whatever mess I’m drowning in. If I ever “feel” something it’s felt in my fingers tingling beneath my skin because something is wrong or I have an intuitive thought that is sometimes fleeting but sometimes strong enough to make me do an about face and go in another direction. I’d like to learn to “catch” things before that happens. I decide to try this listening thing and see what comes up.
The first time I do it, I’m in bed, about to go to sleep when I get very still, and begin my usual dialogue. This consists of a lot of please helps and thank yous before I ask “What would you like me to know?”
I fall asleep before “hearing” anything.
The next night, my brain is so scattered and jumbled that I hear nothing but my own racing thoughts, but the night after that when I’m very still and awake enough to pay attention the words “eat, pray, love” appear in my mind’s eye.
My brain attacks this, tearing it to shreds, trying to analyze it. I tell God/Rob that I tried reading the book but only made it half way through as it didn’t hold my attention like I thought it would. “What would you like me to do with it?” I ask.
Silence.
“The movie is coming out I think. Soon I hope. Do you want me to see it?”
Silence.
“Am I’m supposed to travel like that? Cause I want to…”
More silence.
“Sooo… do you want me to just wait and see what happens? Are you going to tell me more?”
Extended silence.
“Ok. I get it. I’ll wait.”
The next morning my first thought was of those words “eat, pray, love.” Maybe that’s how I am to live my life. I write them down and hope something comes of it.
Days later my alarm goes off and I hit the snooze button. I never hit the snooze button. Ever. I’m on day five of ten hour work days (working to make up for time off next month) and today is Saturday, the busiest day complete with a huge wedding party that I’m terrified of. Weddings are stressful and I don’t even put hair up or do formal styling. I usually get stuck blowing out little old ladies which given my southern background you think I’d be a pro at by now but sadly, I am not.
I can barely open my eyes as I roll out of bed. I walk over to my closet and stare at it’s contents willing something to fly out of it and dress me. No such luck. I walk away and turn on my computer. While waiting for it to load, I stare at the wall and think about painting my face and brushing my teeth. It all sounds like a good idea…
I peruse the internet instead being the master procrastinator that I am. I should get ready. I have fifteen minutes now to look presentable. Damn. I wonder what’s in my Gmail inbox…
Agh! Stop! I get up and turn the computer off. I quickly apply some make-up and beat down the rooster mess that is my hair. Back in front of the closet I stare at it’s contents again. Nothing is appealing. For the love of God! Pick something! I annoy the hell out of myself sometimes. I chose a pair of tiny black shorts that I haven’t worn since, well, forever and a black button up shirt wondering just what it is I’m thinking right now. I push my feet into little black heels and race out the door practically running to the train with one eye still half closed.
At the Unicorn I stare out the window eating granola and sipping life in the form of an Americano. I tell myself over and over that I’m a good stylist. I can do old lady hair. If I need help I can ask. It will end no matter what.
After downing the first Americano, I order another and head to work. I enjoy my first client. I wish nothing but good things for her as she tells me about dating a new guy she’s met at work after a series of awkward first and sometimes second dates with random people.
Later, my co-workers Audrey, Lauren and I are in the break room laughing about how all of us were saying positive affirmations to ourselves about today, each of us having our own challenges. We’re all nervous about this wedding party, none of us knowing what to expect.
I get no-showed which opens up time for a run to Whole Paycheck (Whole Foods…however you want to view itJ) and grab lunch. While standing in line I think to myself what a blessing it is to have this break to actually get food. I forgot my lunch and am thrilled I’ll have time to eat this deliciousness I’m about to purchase.
Ah, the wedding party has arrived. There are fourteen people. I look around for my little lady and find her talking with two other little ladies and smile upon laying eyes on her. She’s in her eighties at least, with short, white, curly hair, and sparkling green eyes behind a pair of black rimmed glasses that I have the urge to covet. She lights up when I say her name and introduce myself which makes me light up and feel that this will all be ok.
In my chair she has the energy of an eighteen year old happily explaining how she wants her hair.
“I want it light, airy and festive!” she chirps.
I’m laughing explaining how I see it going. She agrees and I get her shampooed.
In the bowl she tells me all about how she graduated from Northwestern University, majoring in German. She taught German for many years out in Denver where she lived with her husband. I love the sound of this woman’s voice. It’s full of a kind of joy that I rarely experience or see in other people. I’ve heard happiness in people’s voices among other things, but joy? It’s rarely seen.
“How long have you been married?” I ask.
“Well.” she begins. “This year would have been fifty four years but he’s since passed on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. How long has been gone?”
“Ten years.” she tells me.
“Wow.” I nod.
“Oh but he was a wonderful man!” she exclaims like a newlywed. “We had the best time! We skied all the time out there in Denver and lived in a beautiful home. He was simply amazing. And handsome too!”
I see in her something I once had. She is sparkling as she talks about him. Her words and love are a mirror image of something I had. My entire being soaks her up, desperately wanting that again and thrilled to pieces to be looking at it, feeling it and remembering in the form of another human being. My eyes flood as I rinse her hair. I can have it again. I remind myself. I’m apparently just not ready yet.
Back in my chair it’s as if she and I are the only two people in the salon. She tells me about her life, surviving cancer twice, raising children, teaching, and moving to San Diego after her husband passed away.
I ask what her husband did she said he was an architectural engineer. Amazing.
“I still love him so much. Even after he’s been gone ten years.”
My floodgates are about to burst. I can’t tell her or you what this means to me to hear this. To hear that she still loves him this much after he’s been gone for so long. It’s like putting ice on a burn. It soothes and calms my frayed, scared nerves in ways I’ve been desperate for. She makes it ok for me to still love and miss Rob as much as I do but am afraid to admit.
“Do you still feel him? I ask her.
“Oh yes! All the time! He’s thrilled about this wedding!” she happily replies referring to her granddaughter who is getting married today. “Are you married?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I lost the love of my life in a car accident.”
“Oh my. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “I ask you all of this because I feel Rob is still with me, so it’s good to know that you feel it too.”
“Oh of course!” she turns to face me and says “Don’t you worry. Another one will come along. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I feel that.” I nod and my hands begin to shake. I’m going to lose it.
“Nope. Don’t you worry.” she says again.
My hands continue to direct her hair with my brush and dryer but if I open my mouth to speak all that will spill out will be tears.
I am desperate to find the words to explain how all of this feels. This woman has touched my soul in a way that no one ever has. Her kind words, gentle but sparkly energy has made it’s way into my veins and it’s coursing it’s way through me filling me with more love than I could ever know. I am full of so much gratitude that I have no idea where to put it. It may not mean much to her or to anyone really but to me it’s everything.
I finish her hair and we go our separate ways. I have her daughter next whom I’ve worked on before back in May. I need a breather first and head to the bathroom where I unleash all my tears in heaving sobs, grateful for the release.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” I whisper to Rob over and over before drying my eyes and going back out again.
Hours later, my client Jane is in my chair and I’m thrilled to tell her about the “eat, pray, love” thing.
“You know the movie came out yesterday.” she smiles.
“What?! I so had a feeling that I needed to see a movie tonight after work. I never feel like doing that.”
“Oh yeah. Maybe you’re going to have a spiritual revelation when you see it.” she smiles.
“I know right? I hope so. I hope I’m not blind to it.”
“You won’t be. You‘re definitely being guided.”
I tell her about my client from earlier today and how amazing all if was.
“It’s no accident that she was booked with you today. I have no doubt that she was supposed to see you to deliver the message that she did. I think she’s letting you know about things to come. You’re being looked out for.”
“I totally feel that!” I squeal.
She tells me about an exercise that she did in a workshop a while back that she’s trying to pick up again. It’s taking time each morning to write out a stream of consciousness. It’s writing non-stop until three pages (No more or less) are filled. Even if it’s just writing “I have no idea what to say”, write it out.
“You’ll be surprised as to what comes up. I’m not going to tell you all of why you need to do it. You need to see it for yourself.” she grins. “I will tell you that it’s a way of letting your inner child express herself. It gives her space to be and keeps your mind calm. Give it a try.”
Oh I will alright. I like it. It goes along with what Beth was telling me about giving myself permission to write freely without judgment. I feel I’ve done a good job with it and am excited for this exercise as it will further my writing into something deliciously unknown. I feel I’m still looking for my “voice” as a writer and I think this will put me on that path.
When I finish her hair I go to check movie times for “Eat Pray Love”. My heart nearly stops when I see that one of the times is 4:20pm. It’s the date that Rob died and those numbers find their way into my daily life from time to time whether it’s the time on a clock, a page in a book or whatever. It doesn’t happen too often but when it does it makes my heart sing.
Miraculously I’m done early enough to catch the 6:05 show. This never, ever happens. I’ve never gotten off early on a Saturday. I sit in the dark theater completely unaware that I’m alone on a Saturday night. I don’t feel sorry for myself but am happy to simply be with myself. It feels good to be in my own company, to take myself out.
A silly commercial plays across the huge screen. One of the characters is named Rob. I simply grin to myself feeling I’m in the right spot.
The movie starts. I’m ready. I’m ready to hear, feel, soak up anything I’m supposed to get from this. I watch Julia Robert’s character decide to get on her knees and pray when she’s not sure what else to do. Tears find me again. I have no idea why.
The movie continues. I already feel I’m going to need to see it twelve times. Half way through it the screen goes blank and the lights turn on. Everyone starts looking at each other. I’m giggling to myself being that I stopped reading the book half way through and here I am in the theater and the movie has stopped where I stopped reading.
Minutes later we’re asked to evacuate. The fire department is out in the lobby as we all make a mass exodus. Apparently someone pulled the fire alarm. My head is swimming and I’m annoyed with the huge mob that’s in the lobby. I decide to call it a night and make my way outside.
Now what? I ask myself. I’m hungry. Ok. I’m able to catch the train into the city. While waiting on the platform I pull out my journal and begin a stream of consciousness. I find it to be easy and I’m hooked. I hope it’s always this easy. I’m still curious after days of doing it, what will happen or appear.
I stop for sushi at one of my favorite places near my apartment. In thinking about the movie I wonder if God was needing me to be distracted while He got something else together. I’m not sure when I’m going to go back and see it just yet.
At home I get ready for bed. I’m so exhausted, the week hitting me like a ton of bricks knocking me face down into my pillow. Before my eyes close completely I ask God/Rob if there’s anything I need to know. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
The answer: Listen.
I roll the word around in my head for a lil bit. “Ok. I’m listening…” I drift off to sleep.

The Black Keys...

2010-10-07T09:27:00.001-07:00

In my mind I’m in a café in Paris wearing an oversized black sweater with leggings and boots. My bobbed hair is nearly touching my shoulders. I’ve been writing here for hours at a tiny table by a window, stopping to watch the snow fall while slowly working on a cappuccino.
My reality is much different. I’m in Chicago, it’s August and sweltering outside. A train is taking me home from another ten hour day behind my chair. My brain is so fried I can’t even read. I put in my iPOD and listen the soft piano music that makes up a beautiful song called “Clair de Lune”. This is where my mind takes off. It’s been happening more and more often this daydreaming. I like to think that it’s my over active imagination flexing it’s muscle but really I think it’s my mind’s way of escaping when there are no other distractions present.
My mind continues to wander, playing back the events of the day and the people I met. I worked on a girl today with bra strap length blonde hair and beautiful green eyes. She had me laughing with her story telling until I began to blow dry her after finishing her haircut. It gets hard for me to hear over the noise of the dryer and I get quiet. Once the dryer was off I started to comb through her hair carefully detailing her layers section by section, removing any hard lines with the tips of my shears. I can barely hear the music playing over the white noise of other blow dryers turning on mixed with the various conversations going on around me. My mind stretches, reaching for Rob, thinking about him in a way I don’t remember now to even say when my client’s voice brings me back.
“I love the Black Keys.” she simply states.
“What’s that?” I stop cutting and face her even though I heard her clear as day.
“The Black Keys.” she points upward. “I love them.”
I smile and nod. Funny she could hear it over all the other noise. The Black Keys was one of Rob’s favorite bands. I admit to not being into them much but always smile when I see a t-shirt or a CD of theirs.
I think about sharing this with her, sharing that I was thinking about Rob and then she said that. I decide against it, then think, “Nope. I’m gonna.” So I do.
“Oh wow. That is crazy.” her eyes get big.
“I know.” I giggle even though none of this is amusing to me.
“Wow…”
My hand moves to pick up another section of her hair and I feel her head is heating up. I keep cutting watching her scalp and face turn a light shade of pink. I try not to regret telling her. I sometimes forget myself and the fact that other people are not connected to the things I experience or want to share…

Chatter...

2010-10-07T09:13:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in a pool of words and thoughts swimming around my raw, chapped little body. I feel I need to be in a padded room right now complete with soundproof walls and a straightjacket. These words and thoughts are desperate to come together and form something coherent but I can’t seem to make it all fit.
I want it all to fit. Right this minute. It’s too uncomfortable to sit here and let it all drift by without organizing it. My fingers reach out trying to grab hold of something, anything that will stop the free fall into something unknown but I can’t grab anything when I’m drowning.
Except I’m not drowning. It only feels that way. It’s like watching something on IMAX where it feels like you’re really there on that rollercoaster or next to that shark but you’re not. You’re safe in a theater letting the images play out before you.
I am home. I just took a shower and ate dinner. I can do whatever I want. It’s just me now. Isn’t that what I wanted? Why is hurting so much then?
I have jewelry to make, a journal to continue with, a book proposal I’d like to get started on this century and yet I can’t sit still long enough to touch any of it. Instead I’m taking the long way to the places I need to go to. I feel I’ve spent more time walking and on trains than at the actual places I was using those means to get to.
“It sounds like things aren’t coming naturally to you right now.” my new therapist Beth observes after explaining to her the structure of my days off.
I shake my head. “No. It used to but because of how my work days are, I don’t do anything. I save it all for my days off and sometimes, I just don’t feel like it. I fear that not feeling like it over and over again will end up with nothing accomplished so it feels imperative to get as much done as possible.”
“You’re very disciplined and I’m wondering if we just need to explore your creative process more and redirect how you approach these things. I feel they should be therapeutic and give energy rather than taking energy.”
“Definitely!” I beam.
“Ok, so I want you to simply try writing without an agenda. Let your mind go where ever it goes and write it down. Don’t judge it, just do it. For an hour. If you go longer, great, if not, at least do it for that hour.”
I nod.
“How does that sound?”
“I want it! I do. I’m nervous about actually doing it though. I always have an agenda.”
“I knew you would say that.” she smiles. “Ok, so when you’re writing and you’re getting overwhelmed, stop, and breathe. Really breathe deeply a couple of times and get back to it.”
“Deal.”
My mind goes to all sorts of places that my pen and paper don’t capture. I’m not sure why I don’t record any of it really. I think some of it I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of what I might say or might feel. I’m also afraid of feeling silly or getting stuck so I say nothing.
When I leave Beth’s office I have the best intentions. Ok. I’m going to do this. I get on the train and head to Millennium Park. I walk around and look for a spot to sit and open my notebook, ready for all of this to pour out of me.
It’s awfully busy out here. I observe while meandering. I feel the warm sun on my back and a breeze pushing my straightened hair around my face and smile feeling lucky to be outside today, to have a day off, to be simply breathing.
I plop down under a tree and give in to my compulsive phone checking habit. For six months now Jeff and I have sent bagillions of text messages throughout any given day. It’s going to take a while to stop anticipating the screen of my phone lighting up or the chirping sound it makes when I don’t have the ringer on silent alerting me to some sweetness he’s delivering.
Opening my notebook, I find a blank page and sigh. A screaming seagull captures my attention. Some girls laughing next to me compete with the seagull and with all the people walking around…my head might start spinning. Maybe I picked a bad spot for concentrating. I write a couple of sentences then stop to watch the sun glittering through the leaves on the trees over me.
This is a bad idea. I need less distraction. I pick up and go again ending up at Filter, a coffee shop not far from my apartment. It’s packed but I find a table. I open the notebook again. I get a paragraph pushed out but am still judging, thinking a little too much and desperately wanting to simply let go but I don’t have a clue as to how to do that. I start writing again, asking more questions of myself instead of simply stringing sentences together.
Maybe this is just what it’s going to be today. I pack up after an hour and head home.
The sun is blazing but I run anyway, sweat racing down my spine. I try to remind myself that the writing will come once the dust settles and I find a routine again. My life was just enmeshed with someone else’s. I’m not tolerant of the fact that an adjustment is being made and all I can do is put one foot in front of the other.
Once I make it home again I try to quiet the chatter in my brain to figure out what it is I want to do. Nothing is clear. Well, one thing for sure is clear and that is a much needed shower.
“Just do what you know.” my high school art teacher would tell me when I didn’t have all the answers as to what direction I wanted to take a particular project in. I’ve kept that sentence tucked away with me ever since.
I go through the motions without paying much attention to the water spraying onto my skin or the smell of the strawberry scrub I adore. I get out of the tub and wrap a towel around myself sighing for the hundredth time today.
Once dressed I park my tail on the couch, turn on the computer and take a look at the submission guidelines for a publishing company based in San Francisco. I tell myself I can do all of this. I can write this proposal. I don’t have to have all the answers now but I’ll have them eventually.
Upon reading these guidelines the dermatitis that has plagued me since moving here is sparking. Not only is it eating my hands, it’s threatening to eat my arms too. I click out of the browser set the computer on the coffee table.
I take this opportunity to go to the grocery store and get veggie burgers. On my way back a (seemingly) schizophrenic black man holding a Walkman waltzing toward me is yammering on about God knows what then very coherently says to my face “I love you honey!”
I think of Rob and laugh.
At home I eat and try to be still. Nervous energy is pulsing through my veins. I have enough of it to light up New York City. I try to ask myself what I want. I want to write for hours. I want to write unabashedly until it’s all out of me. I want to be uncensored and unafraid. I want to hurl words in big, bold, all capital letters across a blank page. I want to sing until my vocal chords can’t produce sound and talk until there are no words left. I want to dance all night until the sun begins to rise. I want to cry until my eyes won’t make tears anymore, laugh until I can’t breathe, run until my lungs can no longer expel the air they take in and express myself in all the ways I’ve held back, then…sleep like I’ve just eaten a Thanksgiving dinner.
Until I figure out how to accomplish that, the chatter continues…

OA Lead...

2010-10-07T09:12:00.000-07:00

As usual I’m up early and am setting out on my Sunday route to Alliance for a huge Americano and some writing. I have to give the lead tonight at OA and I’m only half way through with writing it out. I’m scared to finish it. I don’t want to touch it. I’m not sure what I’m afraid of but something has me putting on the breaks.
I sit in my favorite spot by the window, computer on, the Americano in my hand, eyes staring out at the world. I alternate between this position and being completely engrossed in typing away, telling a story to my laptop. I was expecting the floodgates to open today spilling words from my mind to my hands to the screen but not much is happening.
I really should work on my lead…soon…
Instead I pack up and head home to drop my things off and go out for a run. I change my route slightly, heading north on Milwaukee instead of south. It’s quieter than I expected which is glorious. I go for forty five minutes then turn around and head home only to grab my things again and head to the gym for a quick workout.
A couple of weeks ago I met John* at a Wednesday night OA meeting. He noticed I wrote nearly the entire time while people were speaking. I love to write down what everyone says. He also liked what I had to share and asked me to give a lead two weeks later at a Sunday night meeting about Step eight. My mind started to formulate reasons why I couldn’t make it. Giving a lead and talking for fifteen to twenty minutes sounded real scary. While part of me was backing away from this, another part was pushing me to do it, reminding me that I am capable. The word “yes” left my mouth before I could talk myself out of it.
So here I am, on Sunday, with this lead half finished. Ok seriously…I have to get this done…
I’m reading while letting this thought bounce around in my head, sipping red tea at Argo Tea downtown after working out, watching people walk by the huge windows. I’m doing more watching than reading. My OA stuff is spread out in front of me like an impatient child waiting for attention yet I continue to ignore it.
Once my tea is finished I’m packed up and heading home where I fix lunch, shower and continue my avoidance of the task at hand that still needs to be completed. Maybe I’ll just head up there and find a coffee shop…
Again, more avoidance. What the hell am I so afraid of? Doing it wrong? Being judged? Suddenly I’m thirteen again and terrified of being made fun of because what I’m saying isn’t good enough. I have to bare my soul to these people. What will they think of me?
My story and my sharing it is an act of faith and love. I have faith that in sharing, I’ll be loved anyway. I will love myself more for taking this opportunity to give service. Fear is paralyzing though as I’m quickly finding. Time is closing in around me as I step off the train and out into the blazing sunshine. I walk for a while before stumbling upon a Starbucks. I have exactly one hour to get this done. No time for excessive thinking. I order a tea and get to work.
I brought along a journal that Jeff gave me. I decide to rewrite what I’ve already come up with to get the ball rolling and to make it neater and more organized. The first page of the journal is filled with his sweetness in the form of a short note to me. I read over it again, smiling at thinking about his hands forming the words on the page.
I turn to a blank page and begin writing. I write and write and write, barely looking up. Words pour out of me splashing across the paper in the form of my messy handwriting. My desire for food is steadily increasing as the minutes tick by. My energy is haphazard and spastic. There is no way I’m giving in to food before a fucking meeting. I glance at my watch as I finish writing the last word. It’s been exactly an hour. Whew! Made it. I pack up and walk to place where the meeting is held.
“Welcome to the Sunday night meeting of Overeaters Anonymous. My name is John and I’m a compulsive overeater and the leader for this meeting tonight.”
John goes through the usual announcements that begin every meeting. Each one is slightly different depending on which day we attend. On Wednesday nights, the meeting I usually attend, we choose three topics to speak about. This meeting someone gives a “lead” talking about a particular subject or step and discussion follows.
“I’ve asked Melissa to give the lead on the eighth step tonight. She’s not from Chicago and I asked her to speak to hear a different perspective that she might have coming from somewhere else.” He nods for me to take over and I beam.
“Hi! I’m Melissa and I’m a compulsive overeater. I’m really grateful to be here tonight.” I exhale, quickly checking in with my heart rate. It’s steady. Thank God. I can do this. “I moved here from Atlanta and this is my second time at this Sunday night meeting. I attended this one shortly after moving here but my schedule doesn’t always allow for me to come as often as I’d like.”
I remember to make eye contact while speaking, only tearing my eyes from other’s to glance at what I’ve written.
“Being asked to give this lead tonight put me in a position where I was needing to check in with myself and make sure I had nothing needing to be “cleaned up” before sharing.
Before diving into that task I felt I needed to reflect on what Step 8 was, what it meant to me upon entering the program and what it means to me now.
Step 8, as we know is making a list of all persons we’ve harmed and became willing to make amends to them all. I find that “willing” is a key word in that sentence. I could make a list all day, it’s the willing part that had me putting on the breaks. For me, being willing means letting go and taking action despite any fear I might have floating around.”
Some heads were nodding. I realized at that moment that people were actually listening. I had their attention and I suddenly got nervous. I paused for a brief moment before taking in another breath, letting it out and continuing.
“Taking action meant stepping into some unknown world and the unknown is a scary place to be. The first time I had to make my list I had to remind myself that it was only a list. No action needed to be taken yet. It was still a scary process. I dunno about you but I like to believe in Melissa’s world, it’s all puppies and rainbows and no one has ever been hurt as a result of something I’ve done!”
Everyone laughs including myself simply needing to release energy.
“None of that is real though.” I continue. “I’ve harmed people and carried resentments against even more people. It’s all been festering in a dark place inside my head. It’s a place I was terrified to look into out of fear of what I might find or feel.
When it came time to visit that place after moving through Steps one through seven thinking thank God we don’t start with eight,” I joke. “I had to stop and ask myself “Why am I doing this?” I hoped that in at least getting curious about my intentions I could move forward with a little more ease.
The answer was simple. I wanted to let go, move forward and take another step in the direction of recovery and self acceptance. I wanted to release the pain and secrets I had been walking around with.
I found my willingness by reminding myself that I will not die from these uncomfortable feelings, or from apologizing. Many people before me have gotten through Step eight and now it’s my turn. I will not burst into flames for these admissions.”
More laughing ensues and I feel good.
“I was struggling as to whether or not I was going to share what my original list consisted of. The only person who has heard all of it is my former sponsor. So I’m deciding to share it with all of you tonight as a reminder that I’m a human being and am not perfect.”
I list all the unsavory stuff…including, but not limited to, the unfortunate resentments I’ve held against friends and family, a man who abused me and the hardest to accept, the resentments I held and sometimes currently hold against myself.
“Seeing it all out there on paper and relaying the details of it to my sponsor at the time all while trying to remember that I am still a loveable human being despite my flawed actions was a tremendous act of faith.” I continued feeling my skin heat up at these admissions.
“As time has moved on, my list is usually kept quite short. It’s no longer the daunting task it once was. It’s never easy though. I took an inventory after committing to this lead tonight and found that I had some residual anger left over from someone I just recently broke up with. I had to be honest, tell him everything and let go. Sure it was hard but I feel so much better that it’s not longer something I’m hanging on to. Without this program I have no idea where I’d be. Without Step eight and all the step before it and after it I’d still be bumbling around in the dark hanging on to all my fear. Without all of you giving me more love than I deserve I’d still be in the food eating my life away. So thank you,” I exhale, trying not to cry. “for being here, for listening and for letting me share.”
Applause erupts around me and I feel myself relax. I feel so happy to have taken John up on the challenge of doing this tonight. For the rest of the meeting I sit quietly, and listen to everyone else share. My little heart is so happy to hear that my struggles and experiences match those around me. People thank me for sharing my thoughts, for the preparation and for admitting the icky stuff and share their own unsavory moments. There is lots of laughing and some tears. I feel I still have a long, long way to go when it comes to self-love and acceptance but tonight, I feel I just made an important step in the right direction.

* not his real name.

Beth...

2010-10-02T19:04:00.001-07:00

“I don’t think you’re being open to him.” Beth tells me as I sit, wide-eyed across from her on a couch in her small comfortable office. Sunlight streams through the blinds that cover a large window next to her seated brightly colored form.
I nod. She’s prolly right but I don’t wanna see it, plus I don’t know how to, so I let her words go in one ear and out the other.
It’s the day after the half marathon. My joints are sore but nothing tremendous. This is my first appointment with my new therapist and I’m ecstatic to see what’s in store for my lil brain and all it’s many emotions.
I just told her that I broke up with Jeff. She’s thinking there is more there that needs to be looked at. Like me being open. What does that even mean though? I thought I was. Then again, I think about Dr. M. and her asking me if I feel I’m closed off when it comes to Jeff because of losing Rob. The answer to that question when she asked was an immediate yes. I felt that a part of me was but didn’t know how to unlock it and invite Jeff in. The whole thing felt very heavy and “too much”, so I left.
Being this is my first visit with Beth we gloss over the surface of my reasons for being there which mainly are Rob, my eating disorder, work, and stress management. She’s an art therapist and I talk to her about these collages I’ve been doing when writing gets tough. It started with a handmade journal I bought at a local bookstore in my neighborhood. I got the idea from my roommate at the time when I first moved to Chicago. I cut up magazines and paste images down in these pages and watch what I’m feeling come to a surface. These images are like looking into a mirror sometimes. I don’t usually know what I’m going to come up with before I start, I just do it and am always excited to see what’s reflected back at me. Currently these images have been expanding to canvas. I have three large canvases filled with images waiting for more additions to their already rather colorful surfaces.
“I’d like to see these.” Beth tells me.
“I’ll bring in my journal first as the canvases are tough to transport right now being they’re so big..”
Beth also tells me at the end of our session that she’d like me to create a timeline consisting of major events in my life.
“Start with birth and write down anything that stands out, particularly body image issues, like when they first started.”
I nod. This will be easy enough right?
“I’d like to meet with you once a week for now.”
“Ok.” I nod and we set up a month’s worth of appointments.
Minutes later I’m out the door and walking to the train. I decide to head downtown to get sushi and work on this timeline while things feel fresh in my mind.
Jeff and I are texting. He asks how everything went today. I say that I’ll email him. I wonder when this will stop. When will I stop letting him in on details of my life. I’m terrified of keeping in contact with him, yet I don’t necessarily want to stop. I don’t want to meet up with him some time down the road or get an email from him saying how good things are at work then telling me he just went on a date with someone.
I get off the train when it gets downtown and walk to the sushi place I frequented with Jeff when he’d finish a shift at dinner time. I pull out a pen and a notebook after ordering spicy tuna and a glass of wine. It’s beautiful outside and I’m having one of those moments where I can’t believe I’m here. I live here. I’m sitting in a sushi restaurant content with my own company across from a beautiful park in the middle of downtown Chicago, the world buzzing around outside and I’m a part of it. Never did I ever imagine this when I was sixteen looking ahead at what my late twenties would be like.
I begin my timeline. Everything is easy until age fourteen. That’s when the trouble started. I became painfully aware of my body then. It would take five more years though to begin the eating disorder. Five more years would go by before I acknowledged it and two more years before getting help for it. Meanwhile, I’d float around from boy to boy, travel from city to city, buy a car among other things, always trying to fill the void that threatened to swallow me whole if I didn’t fill it quickly enough with material things, with experiences, hobbies, people, anything really to distract me from myself. I quit a job, started a new one. I fell in love, lived through his death, and started a new life many miles from a place I called home.
Now…who the hell am I?

13.1...

2010-08-31T15:41:00.000-07:00

In March, I had the bright idea to sign up for the Chicago Rock-N-Roll half marathon taking place downtown on August 1st. Twice I’ve signed up to run a half and twice I’ve messed up my shins so badly that I didn’t run either one. I decided to try it again, wanting to better plot my training routine and make it happen this time around.
What really happened was I barely ran. At all. All spring and summer. I ran more through the snowy winter months than I did during the beautiful days of warm temperatures and sunshine.
A couple of weeks before, I was giving into the fact that I am simply not a competitive runner anymore. I stand for a living and my legs and feet aren’t happy with high mileage runs. I had pretty much decided that this would yet again, not happen. Until…
Mom sent me an email asking if I was running. I quickly replied with no, because I needed more time off from work to pick up my race gear downtown and wasn’t sure if that could happen, plus I hadn’t been training. When I clicked “send” I immediately regretted it. I can do this. I can run this. Even if I’m the last damn person to cross the finish line, I’m going to regret not trying. My fingers flew across the keyboard, looking up my work schedule. I am not booked during the last half of my day on the Saturday before the race. I ask Cyndi if I could take the rest off to which she agreed. I quickly emailed mom again telling her I was going to run it and if she and dad wanted to come up, awesome and if not that was ok too because it was going to be a packed weekend with me working plus going downtown, then running on Sunday.
That was the last I heard about it and the night before the race found me home finally from McCormick Place with my race number among other things cooking dinner, and watching one of my favorite movies “(500) Days of Summer”. I was feeling awfully emotional about this whole race thing. I wasn’t sure what to expect but I wanted to figure “everything” out. I wanted my mind to go where it wanted, to get answers to my many questions. It was a lot to put on an already seemingly intense experience. I was happy to be alone, happy to be accomplishing this goal on my own. It made me think of Rob though and how he wouldn’t be there in the way I would like. I remembered thinking after he died that I better live. I better do all the things I want to do, God forbid my life get cut short. I better write my book, learn the things I want to learn, run the races I want to run, and go to the places I want to go. Looking back, I’m pleased that I learned how to make jewelry, that I made the effort to move to Chicago, that I completed Art+Science’s program, that I haven’t stopped writing and now this race will be something else to check off my list.
The next morning I was awake at 5:30am. I bought new shorts and tank top specifically for today and felt pretty despite the fact that I was going to be a sweaty mess in an hour.
After eating breakfast and making coffee the way Jeff showed me how to make it, I pinned my number to my torso and happily bounced out the door hoping to catch a cab to the start line.
Except there were no cabs at the taxi stand. Uh oh. I stand and wait. Nothing. Dammit. I exhale. Train it is, except I’m not entirely sure where I’m going. Maybe I’ll get off at Jackson. Hmmm…
On the platform, thank God, it was me and about twenty other runners waiting. I followed them on to the train and at each stop more and more runners piled on. The train smelled like sunscreen and hair products. I’m so excited I can hardly stand still. I’m really about to do this!
Everyone exits at Jackson and I follow suit. The air outside is perfect despite it being slightly humid. It’s almost seventy degrees and the sun is beginning to rise over the lake. The street we’re on is flanked by two other streets full of runners all heading to the start line. Despite hating crowds I feel nothing but sheer joy and happiness.
Nearly thirty minutes after the official start of the race, the “corral” I’m in is set to begin. I listed my finish time as a rather slow 2:30. I’m hoping to finish in 2 hours though. We take off. I turn my iPOD on as my feet begin striking the pavement. It takes a little bit before I can hit a comfortable stride. I watch the bobbing heads in front of me, weaving in and out through people. I stare at the sparkly sunshine bouncing off the windows that line the buildings that make up the fabulous skyline of this wonderful city I live in.
My iPOD is set to “shuffle” and is playing all sorts of upbeat, motivating stuff. I continue to follow the runners ahead of me, happy to be alone and not rush but to go at my own pace. In high school I had a tendency to start out every race too fast and be out of energy by the end. I’m trying to keep a steady solid pace this time around.
We turn on to State street approaching the Chicago theater. There is a sea of people ahead of me taking up the entire width of the street. Crossing Randolph, I think of Jeff and my Intelligentsia visits. They’re open right now and I wonder if they’re slow because of the race traffic blocking off all the streets around it.
We all head down Michigan Ave and get on to Lakeshore Drive heading south. I notice a “10K” sign and realize we’re about half way there. Oh. Wow. Already?! I’m still feeling good, legs still moving, feet are ok. Yup. Still going.
By mile eight I could physically feel my body slowing down. I let it but refused to walk, afraid that if I did, if I let up for just one second, I’d never start running again. I imagine briefly, Rob running alongside me. I used to ask him to run with me on the weekends to which he always declined. After he died I could practically feel him when I went for my runs through Freedom Park. It was almost like I could reach out and touch him. Later, after moving to Chicago and flying back to visit Atlanta that feeling simply moved to having knowledge that he was there but above me instead of beside me. I feel both today.
I start noticing I’m surrounded by “new” people. The 2:30 “pacers” aren’t to be found. These are the folks you want to stay by to keep you on track to finish at a particular time. Sure enough after scanning the crowd I find the 2:15 pacers. Excellent.
I thought my mind would wander, that I would daydream like I usually do when I run. I can’t seem to because for the first time during a run in I don’t know how long, I am present. I am focused on the movement of my legs, my feet pounding the pavement, my breath that is moving steadily in and out of my lungs. I find there is nothing else to think about but right now.
Mile eleven. Lots of cheering from the sidelines is keeping me going. Cheerleaders from middle and high schools are yelling and waving to us. I like them the best. The signs people are holding up are great too.
At mile twelve my eyes flood from be emotionally overwhelmed in the best way. “No, no, no!” I say to myself, remembering that crying makes my legs go numb. I’m doing this! Really doing it! It’s actually going to happen! I decide that I’m going to finish under 2:15. There are 1,600 yards left. I pick up my pace and pass the 2:15 pacers.
With nearly 800 yards left to go Rob’s favorite song “Addicted” starts playing. Again I have to blink back the tears. The crowd is heavier and louder on the sidewalks as we all begin approaching the finish line. I go and go and go, legs stretching out further and further creating longer strides. I take my iPOD out of my ears to hear the cheering surrounding us. I remember to keep a smile on my face as per my friend Christine as pictures are taken as we cross the finish line.
My right foot strikes the finish at 2:03 minutes. There are no words to describe the flood of emotion that washes over me. There are also no words to describe the jelly-like feeling taking over my legs and ass right now but it’s something close to heavenly.
I wander over to a small station with bottled water and try not to use both my nose and mouth to inhale it. I’m spacey, happy, and really loopy. More pictures are taken before I make a trek back over to the Clark/Lake blue line home.
It takes almost an hour to get home between all that walking and the train. I left my phone at home and when I got there Jeff had texted me wishing me good luck and my friend Kate also texted me saying “Run Melissa Run!” It lit me up inside to read their words.
After washing the sweat and film of dirt that covered my body I headed up to Earwax on Milwaukee for some much needed food. I got to sit at a perfect table, facing the window while inhaling a huge brunch, barely tasting any of it from being completely ravenous.
I’m experiencing the best runner’s high in the history of the world! I gotta do this whole half marathon again…

Mail...

2010-08-31T13:15:00.000-07:00

In between clients I sit at the computer and check my email. There is a message from Jeff sitting in my Inbox. My heart drops to my stomach as I open it. I read his words, each one of them searing into my brain and suddenly I am no longer twenty eight sitting in the break room of my place of employment but seventeen in my parent’s room where they kept the computer the day after cheering at my first football game my junior year of high school. My seventeen year old self is opening email sent “anonymously” by some folks with nothing better to do that evening, tears filling her eyes at the unsavory sentences splayed across the screen.
“What’s the matter?” my dad asks upon walking in on me.
I explain the screen.
“Just ignore them Melissa.” he told me.
Deep down in my gut I knew their words to be untrue as I know Jeff’s are. No one lives in my brain. No one knows what I’m feeling or not feeling. No one is living my life for me and can’t tell me what’s going on or not inside of me. He’s upset with me and is hurting. I can see all of that but the short paragraph in front of me cuts through my center and touches a nerve that is so insanely sensitive and already feels so exposed that I am reduced to a brief, albeit intense, bout of crying before I pick myself up, dust myself off and get on with my life. I know all the way down to the white meat of my soul that none of this is true.
I go back to work, all smiles because I’m ok. No matter what. I’m starting to see that I can trust myself. I can take care of myself. I don’t need to give any more energy to this situation.
Later my phone lights up with a text from Jeff.
“How are you?”
I exit out of the message and finish my work day. I have nothing to say. Something is still eating at my hands as they’ve not quite healed up as I thought they would. Something is still bugging my brain. Parts of me want to attack him, say mean things back, parts of me want to calmly, and simply respond and another part of me wants to ignore it altogether.
The next day while I’m writing at the Unicorn I get another text from Jeff. He still wants to remain in touch, still wants to talk. I lose my mind. Rage boils underneath my skin lighting up my veins and has me gripping the phone so hard I might break it. I want to throw it across the room but not before dialing his number and unleashing a kind of crazy I save only for the Atlanta interstate at five in the afternoon on Friday.
I don’t want to lose Jeff. I don’t want to be mean to him. I love him dearly and don’t want to lose touch but for right now I’m raw, deeply saddened, and angry all at the same time.
“What would you like me to say?”
“Anything.”
“You send me a vile email and expect me to respond?!”
Our texting goes back and forth. He feels something else is going on with me and I’m not giving him the whole truth. He wants whatever it is that I’m holding on to whether it’s anger or not.
I am truly intrigued by this. Rob was the last person to encourage the admission of my feelings. Jeff is the only one who has actually pulled this hard. He pulls when talking is hard for me, when I don’t want to and still pulls when I do, letting more of me spill out onto him. No one has ever wanted my crazy as much as Jeff.
I won’t give it up though. Nope. I can do this in a calm way. There is no need for the Exorcist-style scream fest that could possibly erupt. I’ll give him the last piece as calmly as I can. I put my phone away and head to work.
Earlier in the week at OA I was asked to give a lead on Sunday August 8th. This means speaking for 15-20 minutes about the topic of the week which is Step Eight. That step is to list people we have harmed and be willing to make amends to them all. Upon agreeing to do this I had to take a quick inventory and make sure I had nothing that needed “cleaning up.” I currently feel I can’t give this lead without being one hundred percent honest with Jeff. I’ve never had to say any of this before.
I did it though, I typed it up and clicked “send” watching the computer do it’s job before displaying “message sent” at the top of the screen. I exhaled and went back to cutting hair.
Later, Jeff texted me simply saying thanks. Something lifted from my shoulders. I went home and to sleep without my hands itching.

Can't...

2010-08-31T10:12:00.000-07:00

Jeff and I got into a bit of an argument last night. Granted it was late and we were both tired which contributed I’m sure to this insanity but it still had my head spinning and still had me wanting to end it and walk away. So I did. This morning. Via text message in response to one he sent me, which is an icky way of doing things but I wanted to disentangle myself so badly that it was the only way I could see out. I don’t want to talk anymore. I just need to walk alone until I can figure out what to do next.

Aftercare...

2010-08-31T10:07:00.001-07:00

The next morning I’m up at six. I immediately, without giving it much thought, consume the last of some granola I made last week. I try to calm down, reminding myself that I have no need to rush or hurry through my day. I have no reason to eat compulsively either. Not that I ever did or do but it’s such a welcome relief that I forget about the chaos that ensues later on.
I feel numb and slightly panicky. I’m afraid of the influx of feelings that I most certainly will feel at some point. It’s all the stuff I’ve avoided, but really, I have no idea what that even looks like right now.
I head to Alliance like usual on Sunday mornings. I order a large Americano and like usual, I sit in the window, wanting to write but do nothing but stare at my blank screen wishing for something to happen. I can’t think. Everything is fragmented and nothing makes sense. I don’t feel the glorious relief I felt when Charlie and I broke up. I feel like I’m trying to force something, some sort of emotion. I’m sad and confused. Tears spring to my eyes but dry before spilling. I’m trying to be still and let whatever is going to come up and out happen. I’m reminding myself that my thoughts and feelings won’t destroy me and that even though I’ve hit a rough patch, ultimately, I’m ok.
Dr. M.’s words turn over in my head. “Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Just wait for the dust to settle and things will be a little more clear.”
After finishing my Americano and jotting down some of my fragmented thoughts, I leave to go for a run. I keep checking in with myself trying to narrow down what it is I want to do. I desperately want to inhabit my body and care for myself, acknowledge myself instead of escaping. I won’t be seeing Jeff today. There is no rush to speed through anything. Allowing myself to simply be and not shoot from point A to B is a comforting relief. My decision to leave though, doesn’t feel completely right. It doesn’t feel wrong though. For the first time in months I am calm and not scrambling to get to where ever he is. I’m still turning over in my head what exactly happened, what it means and how I can change in the future.
I run for an hour and a half. I don’t remember the last time I did that. I actually have the energy and desire to do so. It felt amazing and I didn’t want to go home and contemplated going longer. I decided against it when my body started slowing down.
Once home I get cleaned up and head out again for the Paper Source. I wanted to get some things for my jewelry. Earlier in the month a co-worker helped explain the retail side of things to me when it comes to soliciting to stores. I’ve got a spreadsheet typed up and now, I need folders, a “look book”, and price tags among other things. I wander the store, fingers tracing everything. Nothing else in the world matters right now, but…right now. Why can’t I always be this way? When does the serenity come to an end the crazy begins?
I find what I’m looking for and head out again. I want a waffle with Nutella at the Iguana café. While walking there, out of no where, tears pour out of me hard and fast. These crying spells are the weirdest I’ve ever had. I’m not thinking anything, they just happen. In no time, they’re drying up and I’m walking through the door to sit by a window, with pen, paper, orange juice and the best waffle my mouth has ever experienced.
Later, back at home, I have an email from Jeff. He’s wanting to know if everything is ok because our breaking up was so out of the blue for him. He was also wondering if I felt I could no longer talk to him.
I’m not sure. I’m really not sure about anything. I sigh and decide to respond when I have something coherent to say. That comes faster than expected when my phone rings and Jeff’s name is blinking across the screen. I pick up and minutes later he’s on his way so we can go to a park and talk.
Talk about what I’m not sure. He’s upset with me most definitely. I’m not sure what exactly we’ll accomplish but I’m willing to see.
“Hi!” I beam because it’s so easy when I see him upon opening the door half an hour later.
“Hi.” he adjusts his backpack and I step aside, letting him in.
We walk upstairs and into my apartment where he places his bag on the floor and I get my keys.
“You wanna go to Millennium Park, or go across the street?” I ask.
“Across the street is fine.”
It’s weird not kissing him hello, not holding his hand as we walk. I’m trying to breathe and be normal .
“So.” I begin as we sit across from each other in a corner of the small park across from my apartment. “Why are you mad at me?”
Kids are playing in the pool behind us, and I think there’s a softball game going on as well. The sun is bright and hot…
“Because you broke up with me.”
I nod and begin bumbling through an explanation of how I wanted this work but it doesn’t for me.
“So what I’m hearing is that you’re not into me.”
I sigh and explain that I’m still attracted to him. I still find him amazing, I just need to seriously be alone. I feel the stuff I need to work on is stuff I have to do on my own.
The conversation moves all over the place. It’s one of the most honest conversations I think I’ve had with someone that I’ve been involved with. I can see how closed off I’ve been. I see how much I kept from him. I see and understand his fears and thoughts as well, and I wonder why it’s all coming out now that our relationship no longer exists. Why couldn’t we just talk about all of this when we were together? Why can’t I give myself to someone who is so obviously available and who obviously loves me and all my parts?
“I still like you. I still want to date you.” he tells me. “I just don’t want to talk you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“You’re not.” I want to date him too. He feels I keep him at arm’s length. I feel I keep everyone there. I fear losing something that’s really good because of my issues with not being able to open up. Then again, is it who we are together that keeps me in this weirdness of being mostly, but not completely open? I don’t even think I know what completely open is.
It’s getting chilly outside as the sun is going down. We decide to get dinner after deciding to try and simply date each other. His hand finds mine as we walk to a new Indian place not far from my house. Sitting across from him I feel calm. I listen to his soft deep voice tell me stories over spicy vegetables and rice and think ok, I can do this. Baby steps…

Tuesday...

2010-08-31T09:04:00.000-07:00

It happened on a random Tuesday at the end of July. I woke up, eyes scanning my clock through blurry vision and thought “I have to leave. Now. I have to end this relationship.” I turned over on my back and stared at the ceiling investigating this feeling. “No. I’m being irrational.” I argue. I turn my head and let my eyes wander over Jeff’s sleeping face. “I’m not leaving.” I sigh and get out of bed.
For the past two weeks I’ve been completely insane. I’ve eaten myself into a frenzy, lost all interest in the gym and running, and have barely been able to fake a smile at work. Writing has also taken a back seat. I’ve fantasized about escaping. I immerse myself in lengthy day dreams of jumping ship, disappearing and starting over someplace out west like Seattle or even San Francisco. I imagine being tucked away in a tiny apartment, writing or making jewelry for a living. I imagine trolling around Europe’s winding cobblestone streets visiting coffee shop after coffee shop spending hours people watching and writing. The dream then switches to being in an open field of grass in Oak Park underneath a blue sky watching the white fluffy clouds pass me by.
Instead though I don’t acknowledge that I’m feeling anything. I bury all of this underneath muffins, cookies, “I’m fine’s” and “everything’s great’s”. I won’t let anyone in because I can’t even let myself in. I feel this mounting pressure sitting on my shoulders and I can’t get out from underneath it. It’s weight is moving into my lungs and constricting them to a point where I feel I can barely breathe.
“How are you?” Dr. M. asks as I follow her back to her office. It’s been a month since our last visit.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I’m not doing well.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.” she says as we sit opposite each other at her large desk. She’s introduced me to Dr. N. who will be replacing Dr. M. next month when she moves to Pennsylvania.
“I’m not sure. I’m eating way too much, work feels very strenuous and I’m just not sure about things with Jeff. I don’t know what to do.”
I feel I’m forcing myself to talk. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep…
Dr. M. listens and asks a few questions before going over some test results. She gives me another vitamin B12 shot. We discuss the plan for the next visit with Dr. N. and I leave.
A few weeks ago one of my co-workers was talking about her amazing therapist. This sparked various memories of conversations I’ve with other co-workers, friends and people from OA during my time here in Chicago about my possibly needing to go see one. I love Karen, but she’s in Atlanta. The phone works of course but I’d rather see someone face to face. I make an appointment to see Beth in Lakeview on August 2. I have no idea where to go with this, but I feel like I’m going in some direction and that feels ok for now.
Saturday rolls around and I feel I’m fit for a straightjacket. I can’t shake this feeling of needing to leave Jeff. I’ve abandoned my life yet again for a relationship. Nothing interests me anymore and I don’t know how to find the balance so, I want to run. I want to do away with the stressor that I can barely look at because I don’t want to see it. I go over in my mind what this will look like. I leave Jeff and then what? I can calm down and can breathe again which is all fine and good but what happens when someone else rolls around? I have a pattern and a habit here. Maybe I’ll be in a better place next time. Maybe I need to learn how to deal with it right now. Maybe I should tell Jeff. Maybe I should just leave because I don’t want to think about any of it. I miss myself.
I’m outside on my lunch break at the Unicorn with a mocha staring up at the sky mentally asking God for help.
“Tell me what to do. I have no idea. I can’t see anything except I am miserable and driving myself insane.”
Back at work, one of my favorite clients Breanne comes in. After hugs and squealing she asks what’s going on and if I’m still with Jeff as I shampoo her hair.
“Well…” I trail off. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can do this. I need to be alone. I need to figure some shit out and I feel I can’t do it while in a relationship. I feel stuck.”
“I suggest you tell him… now.” her face darkens. “That just happened to me. My boyfriend just out of the blue told me last week that he needed some time and space to himself. Tell. Jeff.”
Done and done. I guess that was all I needed because as I left work, I knew I was going to have to tell him as soon as humanly possible. I’ve felt dishonest the whole week walking around with this, wanting and pretending everything was ok. I feel he deserves so much more than me. I wish this could work. I want it to work but can’t see any way around it right now. Maybe in five years…
Jeff is working late. Then he get’s stuck really late. I remain awake though and when he arrives all smiles and smelling like coffee, I can barely look him in the face. We talk about work before he says “You wanted to chat?”
I nod in response. I texted him earlier saying I still wanted to see him even though he was getting out so late. I can’t find words. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m making a huge mistake or not. I do know that if I don’t take some time and be alone, then I’m going to explode into a million little pieces. If I am making a huge mistake I trust that God will have something else up his sleeve for me and if this isn’t a mistake then something else entirely different will happen.
Quietly I explain my growing depression, the fact that my hands won’t heal, my craziness surrounding my food and not being able to work like I want because it feels excruciating.
“I…don’t think I can be in a relationship.”
We’re holding hands, my fingers tracing his veins, his fingers going limp.
“Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”
The rest of the night is filled with who’s, what’s, why’s, and how’s before he decides that he’s going home. It’s well after 2am before I finally give into sleep.

Nature Lady...

2010-08-17T20:05:00.001-07:00

I woke up this morning feeling anxious. I’m going to see Dr. M., the naturopathic doctor. It’s been a month since I’ve seen Dr. R. and while I’m excited to meet Dr. M., I’m really nervous because I have no idea what to expect. I’ve never done this before.
I go downtown to Intelligentsia to write and see Jeff as he’s opening this morning. It’s good to see him. I don’t stay long before jumping in a cab and heading over to the same building I found myself a month earlier.
Dr. M. is lively and beautiful. Her energetic voice calls out my name as I’m sitting in the large waiting room staring at nothing in particular. I couldn’t even read I was so wound up.
“Ok.” she says, glancing at her laptop which is propped open on her desk. I’m seated across from her admiring her long dark hair. “Let’s talk about PMS and constipation.”
Oh my. No foreplay with this one. I immediately start laughing.
“Oh yeah!” she laughs with me. “I wanna get right down to it!”
I explain everything while she types my responses to the questions she’s firing at me. I notice and she does too that I’m mentioning stress a lot.
“Tell me about this stress.” she looks up from her screen.
I tell her my current stressor is my relationship. I tell her about meeting Jeff, but having a feeling that he’s not the one but.. I’m not willing to leave.
“I have a good relationship, which is why I’m still here. Nothing is really clear to me yet though.” I explain.
“After four months, you’re not going to just “know”. Not everyone has that “feeling” immediately. One day you’ll wake up and you’ll know. Either way, it’ll be clear to you.”
She tells me about how she met her husband. “He was my good friend and we lived in different states. I dated all sorts of people and had a great time. He moved to Illinois and we started dating. Our relationship is drama-free which made me question it. I was so used to feeling crazy that this felt weird because it was so calm. That‘s what it looked like for me. You‘re going to have to figure out what works for you.”
I agree with everything she’s saying. I’m calm with Jeff as well. He’s easy to be around and we have a good time. I can’t shake this feeling though. I want to. I want to be rid of it but it follows me around like a puppy nipping at my heels. Despite my kicking it, snapping at it, trying to escape it, it always finds me again, always nipping…
“Jeff is practically perfection.” I tell her.
“If that’s so then what’s the problem?”
“We’re insanely similar and I’m not sure if that’s going to work long term. I…”
Tears interrupt my words.
“Tell me.” she says.
I want to speak. I want to tell her but I can seem to get the air in my lungs. “…lost the love of my life, Rob, in a car accident.” I say as quickly as possible.
“I’m so sorry.” she says quietly.
I nod, still trying to breathe.
“Are you still in love with him?
Interesting question. Sure my twenty six year old self could be. “Of course I still love him but I don’t wish for another life.”
It’s excruciating to admit that.
“I’m…even though it was a horrible thing to have to go through, I’m glad for the experience because I can’t imagine my life any other way.”
“Are you holding back with Jeff?” Dr M. asks.
“Not entirely. I’ve been able to tell him what I need and want but I feel there is this part of me that is holding back, like there’s some sort of blockage that’s keeping me from moving forward with him. It’s definitely on a subconscious level though. It’s not a decision I’m consciously making.”
“You’re ok. Your relationship is ok and will be ok.” she reminds me. “You’re in a spot where you’re kind of on a fence. Either he’ll ask you to make a decision or you’ll make it yourself. Whatever decision you make you’ll have to commit to. You won’t be able to ride the fence forever.”
True…
“How has your grieving been?”
“I feel it was one of the most healthy times in my life. I cried, I talked to people, I wrote and ran. I didn’t hold anything back and was able to accept the love that people so freely gave. It’s not so much like that now. I keep a lot of it to myself.”
“Ok. I’m going to give you two homeopathic remedies and another supplement to add to what Dr. R has already suggested and a B12 shot.”
I nod as if I know what she’s talking about.
“So. The first one is to help you move through your grief. It’s going to help you experience it and move through any residual stuff that may be there. Also I’m going to give you another one for boundary setting. It’s going to help you find your “voice” and make things a little more clear for you and help you let go and do what’s right for you.”
“Deal!” I beam.
“I’ll be back.” she tells me and leaves for a few minutes, then returning with a clear liquid in a plastic cup and a syringe.
“I want you to sip this. It should be only two sips but let it sit on your tongue for a sec before swallowing.”
I nod, reaching for the cup and following her instructions. It tastes like sugar water. After she injects my hip with B12 we talk about my diet which I hate because I have to explain my compulsive eating and what I eat when I’m not being compulsive and what I eat when I am.
She gives me a list of instructions. I’m trying not to be resistant. I’ll do what she says, I’m just nervous.
When I leave I feel desperate to write, to talk to Jeff, but also just let all of this sink in before doing anything. I walk to a mall on Michigan Ave and get Jeff some peanut butter truffles. I go back to Intelligentsia to write a little bit while he’s finishing up with work. We decide to eat sushi for lunch. I feel much better now than I did this morning.
“How was the doctor?” he asks while we’re walking.
“So good! I’ll tell you about it after we order food though. I hate trying to say a bunch of stuff while walking or being interrupted.”
“Ok, just be warned that I’m really tired and need a nap but I want to give you my full attention.”
“I know, and that crossed my mind. I thought about telling you all of this after you’ve slept some.”
A teeny bit of me wants to hold on to this experience with Dr. M. and not share it. It feels too emotional for some reason and would be easier to just swallow and digest it on my own.
When we’re seated across from each other though, I’m swallowing spicy tuna rolls and he’s telling me about his morning at work.
“Wanna go to the park?” he asks as we finish up.
“Yup!”
It’s bright and a gorgeous sixty seven degrees outside. We lay out in front of the amphitheater at Millennium Park. Everyone else has gotten the same idea as we’re surrounded by people playing Frisbee, eating, napping, running around etc.
Jeff asks me a question and I answer it but he doesn’t hear me because he’s gotten distracted by something. I’m getting aggravated. I’m still holding on to everything I want to say about this morning, sitting on it because I’m waiting for the “perfect” time to tell him. Except there is no perfect time. There is now and there is later.
My phone lights up with a text from one of my sponsees from OA. We’ll call her Stacy. She confesses that she’s been night eating because she’s in so much emotional pain and she’s not sharing it with people. She’s terrified to share the dark parts of her life because she’s afraid people will leave her.
God has impeccable timing doesn’t He?
I have to get over myself and text her back explaining that no matter what, she has to say it. She has to get it out. Why can’t I follow my own advice?
As I text her back I’m thinking “What is it that we’re wanting from people?” What does the perfect situation look like when we want to share things, and get stuff off our chests? I feel with Jeff, I have it. He wants to listen. I believe he’s there for me but then again, I don’t totally open up. I now have to ask myself, “Is it me, or what? Do I have trouble with my words and past issues because I’m not accepting of myself? I feel I’ll never be able to accept someone else’s love because I don’t accept me. It’s like nothing will ever be good enough because I can’t give myself enough love, acceptance or space to simply be and have all my feelings. When I think about the perfect situation it involves lots of listening and understanding when I’m rehashing details from whatever is on my mind. I still don’t feel satisfied though. Again I think it’s because I don’t believe I’m worth anything and don’t feel entitled to having feelings and so when I do, I don’t give them any acknowledgment.
“How are you doing?” Jeff asks on our way to the train.
I don’t give him a straight answer. I explain Stacy and how her texts are taking words right out of my brain, that we’re both having trouble talking.
By the time we get to my apartment I’m ready to crawl out of my skin. I forgot that I have an appointment to get waxed by Jenifer at the Ruby Room at five. (I so love this girl!) I don’t want to go. I want to write. Hell I don’t even want to talk anymore.
Jeff is sitting on my couch telling me he’d like to talk.
“I’m taking a shower.” I announce, thinking I’ll feel better afterward.
Not so much. I’m simply unwilling now and feeling awfully silly about the whole thing. We’re on the couch when I explain that I don’t want to share anymore.
“I’ve been holding it in all day which I realize is my choice but I don’t even want to talk about it now. I‘d rather just write.”
“I still want to listen to you but maybe it’ll be better if you write while I take a nap.” he says.
“OK.”
I go to Lovely and he goes home. Writing is good. I think about Jenifer on my way to see her an hour later. It’s really hard to be a client sometimes. I’m always in work mode, asking a million questions to avoid sharing myself. I decide not to be the service provider but the client today. I’ll tell her whatever I want and will do my best to be ok with it.
“Hi Melissa! Come on back!” Jenifer smiles upon my entering the salon. She shows me into her room and leaves while I remove clothing from my lower half and lay on my back on her table. I stare at a picture on the wall of a dandelion. My fingers find my stomach and push at the knots that inhabit it. Something inside my mind lets go and the tears come. I see in this moment that I haven’t been giving myself room to acknowledge how I feel. I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling but it’s something. A teeny space has opened up to reveal that my constant anger is compensating for something else. What it is, I don’t know. Maybe I do and I just don’t want to admit it.
The door opens and Jenifer walks in just as I had dried my eyes. She looks at me a second longer than usual as if to asses my situation but says nothing.
Our chatting soon starts up though beginning with work. When we get quiet again I relay the events of today to her.
“I don’t know why I don’t want to talk to Jeff about it anymore! It’s like a switch flipped or something.”
She explains it perfect when she says “You were excited when you were excited. Now you’re frustrated because you couldn’t express it when you wanted to.”
“Exactly!” I squeal. “I still don’t want to tell him and I may never tell him, or maybe I will tomorrow. Who knows but even if I tell him, I’m still gonna be pissed.”
“Of course. It won’t be satisfying.”
“Yes!”
“Just wait until you’re ready.”
When I finish with Jenifer I go to Alliance and continue writing. I’ve heard nothing from Jeff and I’m getting hungry. I go get sushi again. Once I’m home I text him.
“I assume I won’t see you tonight.”
This starts a dialogue with him replying saying that he thought I may want more time to write and me responding with I just wanted a more concrete plan regardless.
He calls and we start talking about where we’re each coming from. He felt repelled by me. I got tired of waiting to say stuff to him. We rehash the events of today, breaking it all down. I feel tears threatening again an hour later for reasons I can’t even understand. I blink them back.
Another half an hour later we’re off the phone and I’m eating chocolate. I don’t really want it. I just want to want it. After a few bites I put it away. It’s doing nothing for me.
I try to get still and find a definition for what it is I feel once I’m tucked into bed. I try to get to the place I entered while on Jenifer’s table. I fall asleep though, never getting there.

Doctor...

2010-08-08T07:03:00.001-07:00

I was in the break room a few weeks ago listening to two of my co-workers gush about their experience with an M.D. who also practices a more holistic approach to traditional medicine and perked up. When I asked who she was and where she was located my co-worker immediately gave me her name and address. She’s conveniently located downtown and takes our insurance thank God.
It didn’t take long for me to make an appointment. Nothing is particularly wrong, I just haven’t been to see anyone in a long time. My co-workers confessed to being emotional during their visits. Apparently this isn’t like your typical visit to the doctor. This woman, Dr. R. really listens and is actually interested in her patient’s emotional well being as well as the physical stuff. I have to admit I was most looking forward to a safe place to let go and cry if need be. I wasn’t sure if I’d keep the happy face on for her if I’d let go and see what would happen.
I question these thoughts. Why can’t I just cry when I need to, or say what I want? I can’t even cry in my usual spots right now. Not on Division, or Milwaukee Ave. Not in the shower or in the Evanston bathroom. Nothing. Yet the urge is there. The skin on my fingers are weeping enough with my aggravated dermatitis. Some stubborn, hateful part of me is hanging on to every tear I’d like to unleash.
On May 5th I woke up early, got dressed and decided to be fancy and take a cab to the enormous building just a few blocks from Michigan Ave.
My head is a little light as I didn’t eat this morning because of the lab work that would happen later. I stopped at Argo Tea for some chamomile and wrote for a bit before walking back, entering the massive building and taking the elevator to the fifth floor. I walk into a large beautifully decorated waiting room and the tell the girl behind the large desk that I’m here to see Dr. R., and she tells me to have a seat.
A few minutes later I’m being called back into another office by a woman who handles all the insurance and payment.
“I love your hot pink bag!” she exclaims as I sit down across from he at her desk.
“Thank you!” I laugh. Everyone loves my hot pink Hello Kitty bag.
“You have your paper work right?” she asks.
“I do.” I reach into the bag and produce a stack of papers I printed earlier in the week containing the answers to many many questions about my medical history and current conditions. One question in particular had tears stinging my eyes. It was “Do you use substances ( caffeine, alcohol…) to deal with every day stress?
Caffeine. Yes. I hate that I do this to myself. Sure one cup of coffee isn’t horrible, but the atrocious amount I’m currently consuming is not ok. The reason why I do it is also not ok. I want to stay up, elevated, lifted. That’s not something I can sustain without a lil help…
Once my information is saved in the computer, co-pay taken, I am introduced to Dr. R.
“Come on back!” she smiles warmly at me and I follow her into her office where she invites me to have a seat, complimenting my bag. Hehe.
We briefly discuss my employment, stress, dermatitis, Jeff, exercise, food and my eating disorder before bringing the topic of discussion back to work.
“Who says we have to stick to one career for the rest of our lives?” she asks.
I laugh and agree. I have this idea that I can’t be anything else right now though. I think I’m unwilling really. I’m just wanting to enjoy what I have for now before figuring anything else out.
“What other stressors are in your life?’ she asks.
I’m tempted to say nothing, that what I’ve already stated is enough but…that would be a lie.
“Um…” I exhale and my eyes flood. I can’t speak.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I lost the love of my life in a car accident two years ago.” I say as quickly as possible just to get it out of my head.
“I’m so sorry.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’m having a tough time moving through the grief. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the past two years but I can’t stand the fact that I’m still hurting and no idea what to do in my current relationship.”
“Do you feel him?” she asks.
“Yes.” I smile. “I never share that because I feel crazy!”
“It’s real though and it’s so great to have that guide. Our relationships never end no matter where we go.”
She tells me about losing her grandmother and says she still feels her around. She also tells me that thirteen years ago she gave birth to twin boys and one didn’t make it.
“He’s with me every day though, guiding me.”
“How do you know?” I ask, wondering what she feels.
“I just feel him. I know here’s there.” she explains.
I nod knowing good and well there’s no way to explain it. I feel Rob differently now than I used to. Right after he died I felt his hand was always on the back of my shoulder. I don’t really feel that anymore. It’s more of a “knowing” on some level that he’s still with me.
“Rob is your point of reference.” she reminds me. “He’s your guide for all your relationships. If something is lacking then it’s time to let go.”
I’m happy to hear her say this. I feel it in my gut, I just don’t talk about it…this reference thing. It’s not that I want what I had as I knew it, because I’m different now, it’s just that I don’t want anything less.
“It’s all about the journey.” she smiles.
I wish I could remember that always. I’m all about the destination forgetting to smell the flowers, feel my feet in grass and look up at the sunshine, or even feel the rain on my face along the way to where ever it is I’m going.
I’m going to refer you to a naturopathic doctor. Her name is Dr. M. and she’ll talk to you more about hormonal and emotional balancing.
I nod. I’m up for anything at this point.
“Come with me, I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
I follow her into an exam room. My blood pressure is low.
“More water and less caffeine.” she instructs as she unleashes my arms from the cuff.
She lists a variety of supplements I’m to take starting as soon as possible before sending me off to the lab for blood work. I’m committed to trying it but I’m wondering what the point of it all is. Did God intend for us to take such things?
I. Hate. Blood. Work. Tattoo me all day but stick one needle directly into a vein and I want to get violent. My blood moves slower than molasses and I’m trying to breathe through the experience.
“I like your bag!” the technician tells me and I laugh thanking her.
Later, once I’m needle-free and released out into the world, I’ve purchased some supplements, made an appointment to see Dr. M. soon and am calling Jeff. We agree to meet at the Grand redline.
My head is spinning. I’m trying to let everything sink in plus squash the desire to vomit the whole experience on him. I want to write about it first but I’m also wanting to simply be in his presence, feeling like I need him to ground me a bit as I don’t know how to identify my feelings and that feels scary.
“Hi!” I hug and kiss him when we meet on the corner, both of us starving and not sure what to eat. He’ll have to work later so we don’t want to get too far.
I’d like to try a little café on Ontario but he wants Thai. Ok. I’m starving and am trying not to care. I can go to the café some other day.
He asks about the doctor and I’m trying to explain but it’s hard because we’re walking trying to find our way and the streets are noisy. I don’t want to yell all of this.
We get seated at the restaurant near an open window. The music is blaring and I feel like I’m screaming at him. Frustration is building. I’m upset with myself for wanting to talk and tell him every last detail, my words getting tangled. Why do I have to talk? Why does it feel so good but completely ridiculous at the same time?
Both of us talk and talk and talk about relationships, past stuff and future stuff. I’m glad we can be so open with each other. I’m glad he’s willing to work through things. My main question is that when does work become “too much” work? When do you just have to throw in the towel and say “enough.”?
I overeat. Of course. I feel like I’m in a coma. Not because of the food but because of something else. Something I can’t identify. I start telling him about a crazy client I had last night. I can tell he’s distracted and I’m trying to be ok with it. I don’t really need to share this. I can tell it to my computer screen or my journal. Once we’re outside I stop talking all together. I feel I’m too much for people. I’m always going a mile a minute and I feel it wears people out. When I try to contain it though I feel that I’m not being a hundred percent true to myself. I feel I’m putting a lid on myself and if that continues I’ll explode like glass shattering, sending pieces flying out into the open air scraping everything around me.
Jeff and I walk down Michigan Ave and stop in a mall where I notice on the directory a Hello Kitty store is calling my name from one of the top floors.
“You wanna go in?” Jeff asks.
Yes.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I need to get paid first.” Which is a partial truth. I want to go, I just don’t want to subject him to the land of my squealing over everything pink and girly.
We stop at a café near Nordstrom’s and sit on a couch watching people walk by. We’re quiet. I don’t want to talk. I feel angry. Not at him but at myself, for eating too much, for not speaking up, for feeling like I was rambling. He tries to pull all of this out of me. I feel pressured to talk. I will eventually but not while the pressure that I’m feeling is closing in around me.
As I try to explain what I can he has to leave for work. I knew this and didn’t really want to launch into an in depth conversation right before he had to leave.
“Will you walk with me?” he asks.
Absolutely not. I want to scream. I tell him I’m going to go to the Hello Kitty store. (I couldn’t stop thinking about it!)
We say goodbye, kissing, before he leaves and I go upstairs. I am so angry! I have no idea why except that I didn’t speak up about lunch. It’s over and done with though. Why can’t I let it go?
I walk around the store feeling like I’m five again remembering all the times mom would take us to the mall, buying us a cookie from the Great American Cookie Company and letting us walk around the Hello Kitty store at Southlake mall. I want to be that little girl again sometimes. I want my mother’s warm hand holding mine. I want to lay my head somewhere and feel safe. Out here bumbling around, getting swept up in the strong current of my thoughts doesn’t feel safe or comforting but absolutely terrifying. I grasping for anything to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.
I leave the store empty handed. I exit the mall and enter the sea of people crowding Michigan Ave. I walk all the way to Clark and Lake then take the train home. I fall asleep for an hour on the couch then head out for a run.
Jeff texts me asking if I’m upset with him. I text him back saying I’m upset with myself and run through a green light. No response. After running I go to Whole Foods, get dinner and walk home where I make a necklace before falling asleep…

Food, Sparklies, Love...

2010-07-07T07:35:00.001-07:00

The next day, April 21st, I’m up at 6am then went back to sleep until 8am. When I wake up my mind’s eye is remembering fringes of a dream. Something about an ocean, or beach with lots of people…
Jeff is awake as well and we’re inches from each other’s faces, staring at each other.
“How are you?” he asks quietly.
“I don’t know.” I exhale. I explain that I could sleep forever. I tell him about the times in Atlanta when working for Van Michael I slept on one occasion for 16 hours and another for 18 hours. I seriously only got up for food and the bathroom. I forgot about anything and everything. I think my body was trying to tell me something at that time…I haven’t done it since but today, I totally feel I could fall into that.
I don’t want to though. I don’t want to sleep for an entire day. I don’t want to avoid my feelings by drifting off like that. I sit up and climb on him, back straight, hands pressed on his stomach. My mouth opens and out pours the events of today two years ago. I tell him about having mom’s car, about the idea of me renting one because of my accident not crossing my mind because Rob died so soon after that and how dad asked why I didn’t rent one and I felt myself nearly exploding but held it in because, well, he was just asking a question. I told him about going to buy my diamond band, about talking to the woman who sold it to me, about how she pulled three rings from their stockroom and when I saw the ring I bought something in me jumped and I “knew” that was the one I had to have. It felt as if Rob had picked it out for me. I shared with him about buying the “Saving Abel” CD after that. I told him too about waking up that day and trying to eat granola but couldn’t. I stared at the wall for a while before texting Nathan at 6:45am asking if he was awake. I told Jeff about meeting up with Nathan later, and telling him everything while sitting in his truck in the Wendy’s parking lot that afternoon after having lunch with my family and about the dream he shared with me that he had the night before.
I talk and talk and talk until I feel the tears behind my eyes threatening to fall. I stopped talking and folded forward, resting my cheek on Jeff’s chest allowing a couple of tears to escape but pushing the rest back in. He’s said before he’s surprised I don’t cry in front of him. I can’t. I don’t know why. The urge is there. At one point, briefly, and only right after Rob died I was able to cry in front of people. After that I hid in the bathroom at work to let it out and once I moved to Chicago for whatever reason I found the tears falling on Division street or Milwaukee Ave, or in the Evanston bathroom. Sometimes they would emerge while taking a shower or at Charlie’s but now? I keep it all tucked away.
There is no explanation for it besides fear. I’m scared that I’m too much for people. That I need too much, want to much, feel too much. I’m scared to let my grief in when it wants attention. I don’t know how to give it space anymore. It’s changed so much in the past two years. I also don’t know how to deal with people’s reactions to it. Charlie couldn’t take it and Jeff? He’s at least open to hearing me, but again, I’m scared of sharing too much. I don’t want my past experience to take away from the current experience. That being said I don’t know how to let them coexist.
We’re both hungry. Once we’re up, Jeff makes coffee and we both make oatmeal. I end up finishing mine before he’s done cooking his. One of his roommates comes in the kitchen and we chat about her sewing endeavors. I adore this girl and all her beautiful, delicateness. I envy the way she gracefully conducts herself.
Jeff makes more coffee and we take it into his living room, sitting on a couch by a large window. We’ve had some pretty amazing conversations here. I love how calm I am when in his presence and in his space.
I unleash more stuff that I’ve held in since Charlie and I broke up. Jeff quietly listens and I feel better for having it off my chest. Eventually he gets in the shower and I pull out my sparklies while his roommates watch a movie. I feel good for working on my jewelry in front of people. I usually keep this stuff private, only letting people see the final product. No one sees the process.
Jeff joins us later and after a while we decide it’s time to get food for lunch. I put everything away and go to the store with him picking out peanut butter, bread and an apple. He wants spaghetti.
Back at his place I carefully and slowly as possible make a sandwich with the groceries while he cooks the pasta. I try to remember I need to do what I need to do for myself. I’m feeling insecure about food lately. I hate eating while he’s cooking but hate waiting too. In the past with whomever I’ve been with, I go along with whatever they want and eat whenever and whatever they want. This time around I’m trying to ask myself what is it I want, what will make me feel good and go with that. It’s excruciating though with this disorder plus wanting to share everything, including food and the experience of making it with Jeff. So much is centered around eating that it’s enough to make my head spin until I can’t see straight.
Later, I finish the earrings I started for the girl at Lovely and pack up to leave for OA.
“I have no idea why it feels so good to do this once a week for only an hour but it does.” I tell Jeff.
“You’re doing something for yourself.” he explains.
I never thought about it that way. We agree to meet up at my place when I’m done.
The meeting is small. I share about slipping up this week with eating too much for several days in a row but not about Rob. I was on the fence about sharing about him but when the time came, I decided not to.
On my way home, I stop at Whole Foods for a salad to take home. Jeff gets to my place shortly after I do. We sit on the couch, him with a glass of water, me with the salad. Three bites in and I want to put it away and forget I even bought it. I don’t want to eat in front of him. I remind myself that he’s not judging me and take another bite. Chew. Swallow. I hate this. I want to stop, but I’m hungry and entitled to dinner. Chew. Swallow. Why is he watching me? I’m disgusting. Chew. Swallow. I’m going to tear my skin off. Chew. Swallow.
“Whatcha thinking’? he asks, breaking my concentration.
“I’m getting squirrelly.”
“Why? Because of food?”
I nod.
“I’m not thinking anything. You just need to let it go.”
“Don’t you tell me what I need to let go of… or how to feel!” I snap, southern accent intact. I was half joking (because I know he doesn’t mean to tell me anything) half serious (because I’m not ok with being told to let go of anything) but he took me seriously. The expression on his face looked like I had just slapped him.
“Well then.” he took his hand off my knee where it had been resting.
We were silent until I finally said that I’m deeply embarrassed that I have a problem with food. Normal people can eat when they’re hungry and stop when they’re full. They can eat what they want and think nothing of it. I can’t do these things. I’m extremely sensitive to it. If I could let go, I would. If I could be normal, I would be but this is what it is right now.
My roommate comes home. Jeff and I retreat to my room where he explains that he feels I’m looping him in with everyone else in my life that tells me to let go of things.
I stare at him trying to turn over his words in my head and see where he’s coming from instead of unleashing rage that has nothing to do with him on his sweet self.
“I didn’t like how you were so quick to crack the whip on me. I wish you would have thought before speaking.”
I explain that I was trying to remain calm the whole time I was eating, although he didn’t know that and his comment sent me over the edge. I snapped because I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I’ve never had someone watch me as much as Jeff does. I love his attention, I do, it just for me, brings attention to every move I’m making and I get nervous always fearing that I’m doing something “wrong” or “unattractive”.
We settle down and end up changing the subject. It feels good to calmly, rationally talk through something with someone and know that in the end, it’s all ok.

Dear Stranger...

2010-07-07T07:26:00.000-07:00

Hello there, person I’ve never met. Do you have a moment? I need to give something away. It’s something I don’t know how to give to someone that is already established here in my life, someone who already knows me. I need you dear stranger to hold this for me if you will, simply because you don’t know me, because I don’t fear your reaction to my emotional outbursts, because you don’t know me as the “sweet”, “happy” girl that everyone else sees. Don’t get me wrong, I am that person but I am many other things as well, and I somehow came to the understanding that those other things aren’t acceptable.
I don’t know what to do with all of it though. I need to get it out but I don’t know where to place it. I’m a ball of energy bouncing around with no direction right now. I’m scared of being “caught” of being “held” in place because that will make me stop for a moment and actually feel something. On the flip side though, I want to feel it. I want all the grief, all the sadness, all the hurt to fill me up so I can let it go and take a another step forward. Problem with that is I don’t let it go. It comes up like bile and sits in my throat instead of continuing along it’s course, exiting through my mouth. I hold it in place because I’m afraid of letting it out. I’m afraid of the rush I’ll feel, the spark of emotion that might send me into an oblivion I don’t want to know or see. I know what happens when I let it all stay trapped in my throat. I get angry because I’m choking on it, fighting with it, but eventually I learn to swallow and digest it that way until it wants to visit again and the cycle repeats.
There are times though when I let a little go. I’ll cough something up to someone and sometimes it feels good and sometimes I still get angry because well, I don’t want to admit to needing anything. I don’t want to admit that Rob’s gone and has been for a while now. I don’t like that my feelings could and certainly do bring up other emotions for the person I’m speaking to. I don’t know where to go with it though so if you don’t mind I’d like to simply hold all of this for me until I feel I can take it back and function in the world again…

Twenty Four Months...

2010-07-07T07:20:00.000-07:00

I hate writing the title of this entry. I hate time. Whoever said time makes it better lied. A client once told me that love, not time, heals all wounds. I feel I’m surrounded by love today and yet it still isn’t enough. When will it be? Will it ever?
I don’t know how to write about today. I feel my thoughts are coming in fragments like they do when I get emotionally overwhelmed. My manager at Salon Red told me when the two year anniversary of her father’s death was approaching that it hurt worse then the one year anniversary. I wasn’t sure I agreed with that then but today, I do.
Despite my having trouble sitting still today, I want my feelings. I want to feel however it is I’m supposed to feel and move through it. I’m not entirely sure how to go about this because I never allow it to happen but maybe for a lil bit, if I can just let go of myself long enough…
Last year I didn’t have a definite plan as to what I wanted to do on April 20th. I wanted to keep my routine as close as possible to the typical things I do on my day off and this year I wanted to do the same but allow more room for crying if need be, or writing if I chose to do that. I also scheduled a massage with a woman who has studied “intuitive massage”. I was hoping to relax plus get some feedback on my current situation.
It’s beautiful outside. The sun is out and sparkling through the green leaves of the trees I’m walking under to get to Nourhy’s studio. She’s not far from my house and works out of her apartment.
“Hi! Come in!” she says, opening the door revealing her adorable living space.
We sit on her couch and she has me fill out some brief paper work. I contemplate telling her about Rob and today but don’t. She takes me into the small massage room and tells me where to put my things.
“I’ll let you get settled. Lay face down on the table.” she tells me and closes the door.
I carefully place my clothes and things on a small table in the bathroom that is connected to the massage room and walk over to the massage table, and stretch out, face down and try to breathe…
Minutes later she opens the door and gets started. I haven’t had a massage since before I left Atlanta. Feeling her hands press into my knotted up muscles releasing all the tension I’ve held there is a reminder that I need more of this in life.
“Where are you from?” she asks.
“Atlanta.” I say into the face pillow.
“You need a vacation. You miss your family a lot.” her hands move down my back.
Yes and yes, but when?
She continues. For ninety lovely minutes. I was hoping she’d work out every single knot and kink, but she doesn’t. Then again, that might take a week’s worth of work for her. She holds my head for a while, not moving, then moves to my feet and for what seems to be almost an abnormal amount of time she holds them too and we just breathe.
I was hoping to feel some sort of release, hoping to open some door to walk through, where it was safe to cry, to just be, but I felt none of that, just relaxed.
At the end, when I’m dressed and sitting on her couch again she tells me that I’m standing in my own way when it come to achieving the things I want to achieve. She explains I may move again.
“Chicago is great for now, but I see you somewhere like Colorado or Washington. Follow your intuition, go your own way.”
For some reason, I feel a weird pull towards Seattle. I’ve never been but want to go. I imagine being there in my forties. I don’t know where this vision came from but I entertain it from time to time.
“You need to talk more. Your feet are a good representation of your entire body. Being you’re ticklish lets me know that you’re not ok being yourself. Talk. Open up, no matter what. You need to get it out.”
Please love, tell me how. I’m not sure when I stopped talking. I know I started again after Rob died but then I started getting quiet again. I want to share, I have a lot to share, but it’s too scary. I’m too judgmental.
Before I leave she tells me I’m too serious and there’s no need for all of that. I leave feeling…not sure…it was like we didn’t totally connect in a warm and fuzzy way but she was dead on about my life and how I behave.
I walk and walk, stopping into a little store on Damen to look around after leaving her place. I buy Jeff a teeny handmade mug that reminds me of an espresso mug. It says “love” on it with a little heart below the word.
Jeff is off work. I meet him downtown and we head back to Wicker Park to Toast for lunch. I eat too much. I’m happy to see him even though I can’t quite get settled or explain everything in my head.
Back at my house one of my roommates is home. I was hoping to, I don’t know. Be alone. Be with Jeff. Talk. Not talk. Nothing will settle down the itch that longs to be scratched. I can’t even find the itch but it’s there and it’s begging for attention.
“How are you?” Jeff asks we we’re sitting on my bed.
I’m near tears when I reply “I’m sad.”
“I was wondering…you seemed awfully perky earlier. I didn’t expect that. I’m sorry you’re sad though.”
I could cry. I know I could. He won’t think anything about it. I don’t though. I talk a little about how I’ve felt today but I know he’s tired and needs to take a nap. When he tells me so I go into my living room hoping to pull out my sparklies.
My roommate is in the living room. Rarely does this happen. It wouldn’t matter any other day but today… I seriously want to be alone. I don’t know where to go or what to do so I walk outside to the park across the street from my apartment, sit on the steps leading to a stretch of grass, sit and cry. I’m so uncomfortable.
I call my friend Shannon and explain today. She reminds me to feel how I’m feeling. My tears begin to dry up and turn into laughter when I hear her in the middle of Whole Foods looking for ranch dressing at the salad bar. I love Shannon for a million different reasons. She has seen all my sparkly pieces and the ugly bits and she loves me anyway.
She lets me go and I begin walking back to my apartment desperately wanting Jeff to be outside with me but reigning myself in from expecting him to read my mind. He could still be asleep for all I know.
He’s awake I see when I peek into my room. I crawl into bed and smash against him. He tells me he thought I was in the shower when he heard the water turn on but then looked outside and saw me on the phone. I giggle and tell him a little about my chat with Shannon. I am so tired…
I want to get sushi for dinner tonight being that Rob and I spent most of our dates eating raw fish laughing about how we both liked the same things.
“Where are we going again?” Jeff asks me as I will myself off the bed and into a change of clothes.
“Coast on Damen.” I reply. “Wanna walk?”
“Sure.”
It’s busy when we get there. I’m not really looking forward to screaming at him from across the table. We talk a little, eat, talk a little more until we head back to my place. I’m full and empty all at the same time. I don’t know how to be to where to put my feelings. On Jeff? On paper? On something or someone else? None of the above?
After dinner Jeff and I head to his place after stopping at mine so I can pick up my sparklies. I feel badly that I didn’t work on them today but I know I can tomorrow. Another girl at Lovely has asked me to make her a pair of earrings and I’m thrilled!
Once we get to Jeff’s I feel anti-social. I sit on his bed while he talks to one of his roommates and flip through a book he has out on a table. I start giving myself a hard time for not going out into the kitchen and engaging in conversation but I’m not feelin’ it. When he returns we get ready for bed. Once the lights are out he asks how I am. I have no words. I answer with “I don’t know” and “tired” before falling asleep.

Positive...

2010-05-17T05:19:00.000-07:00

Before I go bat shit fucking crazy and start going to places where I’m not making any sense, let me just say this as a disclaimer of sorts…I am one angry turkey. It’s that time of year again when I’m reminded of losing Rob and I don’t know where to put my feelings. They would like a direction and writing has certainly given me that direction as well as running, and the focus that work offers has been welcome but nothing fully eases all this sadness, grief, and anger.
I should talk. I know this. I should open up to another human being. Preferably a therapist who has an unbiased opinion but what I want, is to be open with the people I’m closest to but that’s too hard. I want to tell the person in front of me that I hurt, but for me, hurt equals weakness and I don’t want to show anyone that.
Why?
Well, for starters, every time I open my mouth I feel like I’m slamming my head against a wall. The wall is thick and made of the hardest concrete and keeps any sound from permeating through it. Tears are also threatening to come if the words don’t. I’ve gone right back to not wanting to cry in front of people. When I do squeak something out it usually starts innocently enough but morphs into some strange rambling with no direction and when I’m finally done, I feel silly for all that I’ve given up to someone.
Then there’s the “positive” feedback. This is where the person I’m speaking to reminds me to remain “positive.” What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing this whole fucking time?! I could have gone down a scary road. I feel I’ve worked very hard at remaining positive, at seeing the good at having to learn such an excruciating lesson so early in life. When Rob died, I took time for myself. I didn’t shut off, I talked to people. I made time for writing and running. I went back to work, and did the best I could to function in society. I didn’t sink into my eating disorder, but continued to go to meetings and continued to connect with people. Eventually I made it up to Chicago which was the plan to begin with. I could have stayed in Atlanta, could have stopped everything but nope, I chose to keep going. So tell me dear person, where is it that you come off saying that I need to stay “positive” when I feel I have? Since when is it not ok not to be sad, or hurt or angry or even selfish? Sometimes I need to be. I react so strongly to your “positive” declarations because I feel I’m not entitled to feel anything else. Even when I do and express those feelings I always feel the need to wrap up my lil outburst with something positive, just so you can be assured that I am in fact ok and I’m not headed for the looney bin any time soon. Regardless of entitlement, the feelings, the negative ones are still there, waiting patiently to descend and make their presence known just as much as the positives ones. If I don’t feel everything as it comes I’ll be even more of a mess than I am now and what fun would that be?
I don’t ask for these feelings. I don’t ask for anger and hurt. I know you don’t either. I don’t know why they come. I don’t know why I constantly want to yell and scream and punch things. I miss Rob, sure. I love him still, yes. Sometimes I can’t believe that this happened. That one minute he was there and the next, in an instant, he’s not. How does anyone wrap their mind around death? How can you ask me to stay positive when you have no idea what’s going on in my head, the depths of anything I’m currently feeling? Maybe I would be if I could be but for today, it’s not going to happen.
So, well meaning human, what I need is acceptance. Not only from you but from myself. I need acceptance that all my feelings can be experienced freely and openly no matter how dark they seem to be. I need to feel ok with being angry without fear of having to be reminded to be positive. I need to sink into the dark stuff, the weakness, the anger, the hurt to keep on feeling the positive feelings that I more often than not posses. Please and thank you.

Heaven...

2010-05-17T05:12:00.000-07:00

It’s Sunday and one of my clients, we’ll call her Jackie, is coming in for an adjustment. I met her about a week ago and had a wonderful conversation about meditating and spirituality. I don’t get in that deep with people usually but every now and then someone special crosses my path and reminds me there is so much more out there…
“I’m so sorry! I really do love my hair, it’s just I need more off the length.” she exclaims before sitting in my chair.
“It’s no problem!” I laugh, happy to see her. We decide how much I’ll be taking off and I get started.
We start talking about writing. She’d love nothing more than to sit in a cabin out in nature and write a book.
“Me too!” I exclaim. I don’t want to be too far away from people though but for a little while that sounds really nice.
Our words bounce back forth between what we’ve done in the past as far as employment and what we’d like to do in the future. She used to be a massage therapist and energy healer, two things I’m fascinated by. The things we want require money and time, two things I’m generally not ok with. My impatient self wants everything right this minute.
Somehow the subject of Rob comes up. I tell her about losing him, about the South Carolina license plates and the “I love yous” that I see on occasion.
“You are so lucky!” she beams.
My eyes tear up and I nod. “I feel that way.”
“He’s still here.” she reminds me.
I nod.
“You know what I think?” she asks. “I think you two were up in Heaven, hashing out the details of your lives, picking your parents, your lessons and when you’d meet. He knew that his life’s work would be done and in order for you to move forward, he’d have to leave so you could live.”
I’m losing it as she puts words to the thought that ha been in my mind since I met Rob. She stands and hugs me. I never want to let her go. We’re covered in her hair but it doesn’t matter.
“I totally feel that way.” I smile, wiping my face as she sits down again but faces me. Nothing else matters more than right now. Noise and people are buzzing around me but she’s the only person I see.
Her words remind me of a morning that I woke up wrapped up in Rob’s arms which was in my opinion impossible because we each liked to be on our own sides of the bed when it was time to go to sleep. This particular morning I remember having a hard time opening my eyes, not wanting to let go of something. It was dreamlike and felt as if we went somewhere together. When we both opened our eyes I felt that he felt this way too because he hugged me hard saying that he didn’t want to let me go. I still wonder if he felt whatever it was I was feeling to the extent that I did.
Jackie reminds me again how lucky I am to have him with me always. I explain that I have a hard time talking about all of this with my family. I want to. I want to share all the little things with them but in the past when I’ve told mom about the South Carolina plates or sent dad an email I’m met with skepticism or silence.
Pat reminds me that I must’ve chosen mom to be my mom because of our differences like this.
“You need her to have those opinions to gain confidence in your own beliefs.”
That is quite possibly the most positive spin anyone could ever put on it.
“I’m so glad you came in.” I tell her as I finish up her hair.
“We obviously had messages for each other.” she smiles and hugs me goodbye.

Love and Clippers...

2010-05-17T05:07:00.000-07:00

Two years ago today it was Easter Sunday. Rob and I were up early getting all fancy, him in a hurry because he was late, and me, not so much because I didn’t have to leave until later.
Today it’s Tuesday and the start of my work week. I’m in Chicago waking up next to Jeff and pulling myself out of bed to go run. It’s dark outside still but I love it. The sky is just beginning to lighten up. This is my favorite time of day.
Last night while falling asleep Jeff asked if there was anything on my mind. This cracks me up. He and I spent most of the day drinking coffee on his couch yesterday and having intense, wonderful, deep conversations. I’m not sure how it is that I haven’t covered everything that my brain could possibly come up with or hold today.
“Hmm…nope. You?”
He’s quiet for a while until he asks, “Is it ok if I call you my girlfriend?”
I giggle. “Of course.”
We laugh at how it’s annoying to constantly refer to the other one when talking to people as “this guy/girl” I’m seeing.
He hugged me hard. I felt calm, content, and happy. It’s like some sort of anxiety was just scraped away. Not that I didn’t think we were going to go in this direction, it’s just nice to have it said out loud.
I return home from my run and get ready for work. Once there I get no-showed by my first one and everyone after that wanted to change their hair. My most challenging was a boy who had hair that was about 3 inches below the top of his ear. He showed me a picture of a haircut that was extremely short, something I’d have to do with the clippers. Now I’m not real fond of the clippers. George teases me about it on a regular basis and is always encouraging me to use them.
I stare at the picture trying to find a way out of this. There is no way. I have to do it. I remind myself that I have everything I need right now. Help is here should something happen.
After shampooing my client I walk over to George’s station and rummage through it looking for his clippers. He walks up to me in the middle of doing this.
“May I use your clippers?” I ask.
“Of course you can!” he exclaims and reaches passed me to pull out a comb and the clippers. While he’s doing this, I notice something on the inside of his station’s cabinet door. It’s a small piece of paper with the words “I love you” written on it in his son’s handwriting. My eyes flood with tears for a second out of gratitude and out of fear for what is going to happen once I turn these things on and start running them up my client’s head. I’m reminded though of a friend’s words when she told me to imagine God there with you in any situation you find yourself fearful in. Seeing the words “I love you” written there in George’s station reminded me that I’m not alone.
“May the force be with you.” George smiled and left for the day.
I cut my client’s hair and was proud of and happy with the end result as was my client. Whew!

Fear...

2010-05-17T04:59:00.000-07:00

Will I always freak out over a relationship? Why does being involved with someone consume my mind, and stress me out to a point to where my arms and hands are in dermatitis crisis mode? Why does sharing my life with someone pull me away from the life I was living alone? Where did my little creative mind go and why is it stuck to this boy like a fly on sticky paper?
I’ve been trying my best to strike a balance between Jeff, my friends, work and my “alone” time with writing, the gym, running, necklace and earring making. It’s all overwhelming and I’m not sure what I’m doing just yet. I’ve never done this well before. When I’m with someone my life fills with them, my brain is in overdrive with thoughts of them, and I forget who I am. I’m desperately trying to hang on to what little I’ve discovered about myself and continue forward in a healthy way with Jeff.
We’re smashed together when I wake up and listen to his soft breathing before he opens his eyes and smiles. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Hi.” I whisper. I’m off today and he has to leave by 8:30 to get downtown to work. I desperately want to eat…
We start waking up a little more. He asks me when our first date was.
“February first.”
“So it’s been a month. How are you feeling about all of this?”
I nod. “Good. You?”
He nods. “Good.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Just curious.”
We stare at each other. His phone beeps with a text message. He reads it and puts the phone down.
“I need to get into the shower.” he tells me.
I jump up exclaiming that I need to eat before drinking coffee. I can’t sit still. I can’t handle the intensity at which he’s observing me.
While he’s in the shower, I inhale my oatmeal trying to finish it before he’s done. I feel badly for not tasting it, for not taking my time, for requiring it like I do, for my fear of being seen while eating and for wanting it so badly.
Jeff went to El Salvador for work a couple of weeks ago. He brought back a small cup from a “cupping” he had to do while he was down there. It’s a fabulous little thing and I’m happy to have it. I fell asleep the night before last with it next to me because after I chose to eat granola out of stress and irritation from work, I passed out. He found it while we were getting ready for bed last night and I dodged his questioning about why it was there saying I’d explain it later. As we’re walking out the door this morning he brings it up again. I tell him I don’t want to talk about it. I’m surprised at myself because I’ve been so honest with him and now I’m shutting off? What is that?
We walk outside. I inhale, exhale and decide the only way I can change is to actually… well, change and that will mean actually talking. I tell him about the granola incident.
“That wasn’t so bad.” he says. “I mean, I don’t think so.”
“To other people, it may not be but for me it’s huge.”
He nods.
I am still so deeply embarrassed about my eating disorder that it’s excruciating to talk about it’s details sometimes. I hate the fact that I’m not “normal” with or around food, that I can’t have certain things in my house, that I can’t eat at certain restaurants, that I tend to obsess over sugar and know it’s in my best interest to not go near it. I also hate feeling like I have to explain myself when in the company of other people. My explanations are subject to judgment and I’d rather not go there.
We get downtown to Intelligentsia and Jeff starts work while I write for a while. He smiles at me from behind the espresso machine. I can’t stand for him to admire me, to smile at me, to want me. I don’t love me so how can I accept someone else’s love?
Later he comes over, hugs me and asks how I am. I try to be as honest as possible and not give him my usual “Good! Great! Everything’s awesome!”
“I don’t know. Irritated.”
I’m not present, not settled, my brain feels scrambled, and I’m insanely self conscious. I’m unable to let anything simply be. I’m pressuring myself to do a million things. I feel I need to write a novel today, get to the gym, run, be perfect in all aspects of my life but of course, like every human on this planet, I fall short of perfection. I know this yet I have this insatiable desire to continue to strive for it. I wonder what would happen if perfection could be achieved? I think that even then I’d be unsatisfied. My co-worker George asked me one day while sitting in the office at work “What happens when the dog gets the car?”
I laughed imagining how some dogs will tear after a car, something that is insanely larger than it is and…then what?
Yup. What happens when the human finally reaches happiness? Would I even know if I found it? Maybe it’s an illusion I chase after to avoid finding the happiness in the moment I’m sitting in currently? The only moment I’ll ever have is this one, until the next one…
I leave Intelligentsia and head to Whole Foods in the South Loop. I buy my usual groceries and head back home.
Later I’m headed out again to meet up with my friend Lydia for dinner. I’m still not feeling completely fabulous. It’s everything I’ve got not to cancel. I want to see her, I do, I’m just wrapped up in my head. As I’m waiting for people to exit the Clark bus, I watch a man step down on to the pavement and exclaim to a lady next to me so loudly that I almost jump out of my skin, “I LOVE YOU!” I smile to myself and get on the bus.
Dinner was good and it was wonderful to see my friend. Lydia is one of my favorite people. I still wasn’t completely grounded or present though and didn’t share much with her at all, just listened. It’s so much easier for me to simply sit and listen than it is to actually share something.
I don’t feel like waiting on the bus. I remember walking all the way downtown from this area when Shannon came to visit. I start moving. I walk and walk until I find a cupcake shop that’s…open. Without even thinking I’m pushing open the door, walking up to the counter, ordering, paying, eating.
My brain sparks on it’s sugar induced high. I don’t remember the last time I had a cupcake and this isn’t the direction I’d like to go in. I’ve checked out completely, unable to think, to make a decision, to move. I want another one once that one is finished. I want to sit in a coma, licking icing off my fingers forever and ever.
Not really. It’s inviting, the warm blanket of chocolate, butter, sugar, and cake, but it’s all an illusion. There’s no life in it, no happiness, nothing.
I catch the Clark bus back towards home. Once I’m there I drink water, text a friend from OA and try to be calm.
I pick up my journal from my time with Rob and read through a few entries. On those pages he’s still alive, we’re still physically together. At the time I was feeling all the crazy I’m currently feeling with Jeff. I’m sinking into a weird depression and eating too much yet again. It makes me cry. How is it that receiving someone else’s love sends me into a funk? Every. Time. This time though, I’m trying to fix it. I remember waiting to hear from Rob unable to breathe practically until he called, unable to live my life.
Jeff calls. I’m so afraid he’ll go away. Afraid everyone will. I’m afraid he’ll pick up on my neediness, afraid I’ll do something unattractive and he’ll disappear… but won’t that be his choice? Isn’t that something I can’t control? Is that my problem? I fear his leaving, can’t control what he does so I act out with food? Even though he’s given me no indication that he’s going anywhere? What sense does any of this make?
I contemplate telling him about the cupcake and eventually I do. He listens, saying nothing which makes me nervous but what do I expect? When I’m quiet he tells me thanks for sharing. Relief floods my overactive brain and I thank him for listening.
He has no idea how amazing it is for me to feel safe enough to tell him all of this. I already feel insane for my thoughts, my food and all the crazy that surrounds my life. Having him simply hear it makes it so much better.
I can’t actually believe he wants to hear it. He’s taken such interest in my life that it’s sometimes overwhelming. I can’t imagine that someone finds me interesting enough to want to know all of this.

The Grieving Ladybug...

2010-04-20T06:05:00.000-07:00

Work today is much calmer than yesterday. Thank God. Yesterday, even though it was tough, I made this old lady’s curling iron set my bitch, told a crazy chick that no, I was not cutting her bangs because the first thing she said to me when she sat in my chair was “Don’t touch my bangs.” and made some picky college girls happy with several long layered haircuts.
Today though, everyone was calm, including me. No one really had instructions for their hair, they just wanted it to look better. This frees my brain up to have it move as it wants, creating what I want within the boundaries that have been set upon meeting these people, such as “don’t cut it too short but I don’t mind a lot of layers” and the like.
I start feeling a little weird about my blog all the sudden after a few haircuts. My mind wanders to the Facebook friend request that I got from Jeff the day after we met. The link is attached to Facebook. Hmmm…I text him.
“Love, have you read any of my blog?”
He texts back, “Some of it. Not as much as I’d like to. I like the way you write. Do you mind?”
“Nope.” It’s not that I mind, I’m just nervous.
“I’ve read up to “Heart Shaped Cloud.” he texts.
I get online and log on to the blog, looking to see what he knows already. I was thinking about telling him about OA tonight. I’m starting to feel a little weird about food and feel that I need to explain, plus I want to share about my Wednesday night “mystery” plans. I scroll through the entries leading up to “Heart Shaped Cloud” and see that he does in fact know about OA. Oh damn. I wasn’t entirely expecting that.
“Hmmm. That’s the tough part.” a friend tells me when I unload all of this blog/OA mess on her. “You never know how they’re going to react. That’s their deal though. I know it’s tough. You just gotta do it, just gotta say it. Besides, he already knows and hasn’t gone running for the hills yet. I think you’re ok.”
I exhale. I think she’s right. It’s just the anticipation of talking about this that puts me on edge.
Work ends. I meet Jeff at the Belmont red line stop. Today is Valentine’s Day. We go to a Mexican place not far from the train. It’s not crazy but still busy. We’re seated next to a huge window.
After ordering I’m trying to figure out how to bring up this OA thing. He practically does it for me though when he mentions my blog again admitting to reading it on his breaks at work.
“So you’ve read up to Heart Shaped Cloud right?” I ask.
“Oh I’m done with 2008.” he grins.
I laugh and tell him I’m asking because I wanted to tell him some stuff and was curious as to how much he’s read.
“I started with your most recent one. “Closer” I think it is? Then decided to start at the beginning.”
“How long have you been reading it?” I ask.
“Since we became Facebook friends.”
Oh my.
“So I knew about Rob and everything.” he says.
I nod. “I realize my blog is very much public and it’s attached to my Facebook account but I was still taken aback when I saw what you’ve read so far.”
He laughs and I feel my skin heat up.
“So…you’ve already read about what I wanted to tell you.” I stare at the wall avoiding eye contact. “I can’t keep saying “Oh I have this “thing” to do every Wednesday night without eventually explaining it. I have a compulsive eating disorder.”
He nods. I exhale. “Substance Abuse?” he quotes the title of one of my blog entries.
“Yup.”
I go on to tell him about some of the people I’ve met here through OA, my experience with Charlie, and about some co-workers I’ve opened up to.
He listens until I’m quiet and asks if giving me cupcakes and candy if off limits.
“Yup.” Of course I want to eat all of it but know better.
Back at my apartment we’re cuddled up on my bed and I’m listening to him tell me things about his life. I devour his words, grateful for his ability to open up, his expression of his feelings and relaying of past events. This leads me to open up more to him. It’s scary but words leave my mouth, relaying more heavy stuff, and he hears them.
“You’ve been through a lot.” he says quietly.
I nod, not knowing what to do next.
“You’re a really strong person.”
I still feel really broken after all the crazy that’s happened. I hope I haven’t scared him…

Smattering of Ramblings...

2010-04-15T09:01:00.001-07:00

It’s February tenth again. I’m off from work and trying to get comfortable. Nothing will ease my mind. Caffeine certainly isn’t helping. I want to go through my usual routine of running, the gym, coffee and writing but I’m unsettled. Nothing is interesting or feels worth doing today.
I try to write in my journal, try to write Jeff a letter but nothing is really coming out. I’m frustrated because I have the time to do whatever, to write and or say whatever and I can’t seem to get to a place where that’s possible.
Anger keeps everything in. It always does. I keeps me from expressing anything. It’s my “go-to” emotion. It’s the one that blankets everything else. I don’t know how to move past it.
I go to OA. It’s one of the only places where I can be wide open, totally honest and without fear. Sure I’m scared of what might come out of my mouth but I know it’ll be met with love. It feels safe to be here within these four walls. Not so much in the outside world. I actually wasn’t so much interested in going to a meeting. It’s cold, wet and gross outside. I went so I could express myself. It’s the only place I feel I can besides here or on paper and even then that’s questionable.
The tears come right after saying the obligatory “Hi, I’m Melissa and I’m a compulsive overeater.” I explain that I met Rob today, that he died in April and it’s all really tough. I talk about my gratitude for Jeff, how I feel so lucky to have him in my life, but I don’t know how to let him in. I don’t know how to tell him that I go to 12 Step meetings on top of all of my feelings of grief over Rob. Right now, I just say “I have plans tonight.” Eventually I believe that he’ll pick up on the pattern that I have these “plans” every Wed at the same time and start asking questions.
Of course like Rob, OA is a part of my life. I may not like it. I hate it in fact. I hate that I have to go to a support group because I manage my emotions with a substance but at least I have a place to go. I’m trying to see that with having Jeff in my life regardless of where it may go or what might happen, or how each of us may feel, I am to learn to open up, trust someone who is clearly there for me. I try to remind myself that it’s ok to let him in. With Rob I felt I should let him in, I felt I had to because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t get the opportunity again. With Jeff it’s I have to simply because I can. If he runs away, it’s his choice, but for me, I feel it most important to figure out how to be myself when with someone.
It’s not really Rob I need to talk about but his absence and what that means for me. I don’t even know what that is. I know it means I get really angry but am never able to really pinpoint why. I know I get insanely sad and I know I don’t know how to talk or express any of it. It’s not like my thought process goes “I wish Rob were here.” then that’s followed with me getting angry because he’s not. It’s these anniversaries that I don’t know what to do with. It’s not like I can celebrate with him the day that we met. I feel lost, aimlessly meandering looking for comfort, knowing that this awkwardness will pass but in the meantime it blows…

Push...

2010-04-15T04:49:00.000-07:00

It’s…so….early…Jeff and I are both up and dressed, and stumbling around trying to get ready for work.
“How old are we?” he smiles.
“I know…” I laugh. Neither of us will bounce back as quickly as our 22 year old selves. I’m planning on crashing, shears in hand at 3:30pm. Right now, I feel pretty good.
I take the bus to the red line, then to the purple line all the way to Evanston. I’m nodding off like a narcoleptic on heroin trying desperately to stay awake long enough to get off at the right stop.
Oh work…good day, mildly irritating but everything went well despite my bumbling around in search of caffeine wishing I could sleep with my eyes open. Jeff and I text each other all day. He offers to come to Evanston to give me a shoulder to sleep on for the ride home. I want to curl up with some good food from the Chicago Diner, preferably with him before I pass out on him. I ask and he agrees, meeting me at the salon as I finish up.
We chat on the train all the way to the Diner. I’m still mildly irritated and am sure it’s from the lack of sleep and the long work day. I’m happy listening to him but feel I can’t contribute much.
There is lots of grinning and giggling over dinner. I feel my toes curling in my boots and I try to relax. I feel he can see into my soul and that’s a wee bit scary being I don’t think I’ve even seen what‘s in that place. I realize the curling of my toes is some sort of distraction to keep myself from being 100% present. I’ve done this for as long as I can remember. If it’s not my toes, it’s something else like playing with my hair, readjusting myself constantly in my chair, or reaching out to tickle him. I do it to break the intensity of the situation. I never want to sit still too long out of fear he might actually see me. Then what? He runs? Why would he? I don’t know. I’ve never really let anyone in. It feels too scary but I don’t know why or where I learned that it wasn’t ok to be myself. Last time I attempted it God decided he needed the boy with Him more than I did as I knew him here on earth.
Jeff delivers all sorts of sweetness. He tells me how pretty he thinks I am, he holds my hands and wants to share cake with me instead of asking “Are you going to eat that?” before discussing the substance’s caloric content. I want this delightful lovin‘. I do. I want to soak up all his kindness and sink into it but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to be still and allow myself to walk through life with a healthy available person who wants to spend time getting to know me.
What I do know is how to push away. A teeny little sliver of me is wanting just that. I can see it, feel it and I’m trying to kill it before it takes over and ruins any opportunity at something wonderful. If I don’t change now, if I don’t learn to open up, to accept the love another human being is willing to give I’ll never have a solid relationship. It’s so hard though to give all of myself when I can’t anticipate the outcome. I can’t see into the future which makes this unknown daunting. I look at work and how I knew assisting would be temporary. The goal was to learn through assisting and class then become a stylist again. I would have to complete a series of tasks to get there and I did. With a relationship, I only see a beginning. The unknown is what drives me insane.
What kind of sense does that even make though? Why am I not ok with sharing my life, my thoughts, and emotions? What and or who am I saving them for?
After dinner we head to my place. I listen to him tell me about his most recent ex girlfriend. This reminds me of Rob talking about his ex, Ginger. I don’t mind it. I’m surprised that I don’t mind it. I almost need it. I want to know every inch of him, his life, his thoughts, his wants, likes and dislikes.
I enjoy the tone of his voice, the feeling of his skin beneath my fingers and the blanket of comfort I feel in his presence. I feel like a delicate slice of cake that he’s carefully turning over and examining before consuming it with the utmost care. This I allow myself to open up to and feel to it’s entirety simply because I’ve craved it in a way I can’t explain.
Our chatting is sprinkled with kisses until we start to lose focus and fall asleep…

Salon Meeting Part 2...

2010-04-15T04:48:00.001-07:00

“Hey Melissa? C’mere for a sec.” Amy, my assistant manager says to me after I set up my station. It’s early on Saturday morning and I’m already contemplating my second Americano. I walk over to her and she pulls me aside next to the washer and dryer near our break room.
“So I heard a rumor that you want to go to Wicker Park’s meeting next week.”
“Reeaally.” I reply remembering Shana and I weren’t the only two in the break room yesterday morning. “What did you hear?”
“Just that the tenth is when you met Rob and you’d like to have the day to yourself. It’s no problem. Just make sure you don’t miss Wicker Park’s because it’s a benefits meeting.”
Tears are waiting for permission to be released but I hold on tightly to them. “Thank you. I have a hard time with it and am not ok with being upset.” I confess.
“It’s ok. It’s all ok. Sometimes you don’t know how you’re going to feel. We’re here for you though. You can talk to us ok? Just let us know what you need.”
I wish it were that easy. I wish I could say to anyone “Hey, I need to talk, do you have a minute?” but I don’t let myself utter those words. I do however explain April 20th and ask to work on Thursday instead of that day.
“Sure, I’ll mark it off right now.”
I thank her again and walk out to get my first client.
I enjoy my day, my clients, their hair, their conversation but I’m exhausted when I’m done. I take the train home and instead of catching the bus, I decide to walk. Jeff and I are texting, both of us tired, neither of us wanting to be at either of our places. His roommates are having a party and things are tense between me and one of mine. Jeff and I decide to meet in Logan Square at New Wave coffee. I’ve been wanting to see this place for a while now.
It’s precious! We both get tea and sit next to each other at a small round table. We’re both very touchy-feely, grinning, all googly-eyed, and I’ve suddenly forgotten that I was ever tired.
“Tell me about your day.” he says rubbing the tops of my knees.
“Well, um, my clients were great. Uh, I’m just not feeling so good right now…” I can’t look him in the eye.
“You want to talk about it?”
I nod. “It’s hard. Um…” I trail off. The music is blaring and I don’t want to have to raise my voice. “I think I’m going to save it for when I don’t have to yell it to you.”
“Ok.” he nods and excuses himself to the bathroom. I go when we returns and lock myself into the tiny space and look around. Bright colored words and drawings fill the walls. Near the mirror I see the words “I love you” and “you’re beautiful” scrawled in pink ink. I smile to myself.
Jeff and I talk, laugh and tell stories until deciding to leave. We contemplate our apartments and decide to go to mine.
“My room’s a mess.” I giggle.
He says he doesn’t mind, but he hasn’t seen it yet. Hehe. The train doesn’t take us long and yes, as expected he’s surprised to see the aftermath of what looks like a tornado that tore through my little living space.
“No judging!” I exclaim as we plop onto my bed.
It would be in our best interest to sleep but what fun is that when there’s still so much to share and learn about this shiny new person in front of me.
We’re facing each other, laying on our sides when his fingertips begin to trail along the tops of my hands. I do my absolute best not to recoil and hide them out of fear he’ll think they’re gross. My dermatitis has been getting the better of me lately making my skin look a little mangled.
“I like your hands.” he tells me.
I chew on the inside of my face. “Say it.” I tell myself. “Come on…say thank you.”
“Thank you.” I reply and wait for the other shoe to drop, preparing for him to mention my skin. He doesn’t, so I do, explaining that I get nervous about people seeing them. “Sometimes I hide them and sometimes I don’t care. I try not to care more often than not, but it’s hard.”
“I still like them.” he says.
I smile and stare at them trying to simply be grateful that I have ten fingers that function despite the skin wanting to fall off.
He tells me that he finds it crazy that he’s here, that we’re hanging out and that it’s been so easy and that he’s been really open about the whole thing. I feel the same way. It’s scary, wonderful, exhilarating and I find myself wondering how we even got here. It feels like five minutes ago that I saw him behind an espresso machine, wanting to feel his hair between my fingers, his collarbone beneath my fingertips, his voice in my ear, his smile lighting me up and here he is, inches from my face.
While laying on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, Jeff on his back next to me, I begin my story about Rob starting with wanting to move to Chicago. I ramble on and on without making eye contact, talking at my headboard, at a pillow, but rarely at him. I almost cry but hold it. I explain all my interviewing, flying back and forth, falling in love with Rob, feeling like I was going to lose him, then…actually losing him and everything that came after.
I stop talking abruptly when I feel there’s nothing more to say. It’s weird how this happens. I’ll talk and talk until there are no words left to form but a weird silence that all the noise in the world could never fill. I can’t identify how I feel. I’m irritated for sure. I’m mad at myself for giving up all that information. What do I expect him to do with all that? What’s the point?
I can see that there isn’t a right or wrong when it comes to feelings, and sharing but I sometimes wish there were. I wish there was an instruction book for grief, a template to follow but I’ve got nothing. It’s all day to day and I think that’s the hardest part. I’m alone in my own journey through it even though there are people around me, I still have to find my own way and I lose my mind wanting someone to just tell me. Why can’t you just tell me where to go and what to do and how to say it and feel it?
Jeff hugs me hard. “I’m sorry. That’s really heavy.”
It is and I try to just hear what he said instead of taking it and running away with it on the crazy train. The crazy train will take me to a destination where everything is silenced and never shared out of fear that I’m somehow broken and not worth messing with. Somewhere though underneath all the crap I’ve piled on myself I know this to be untrue. So I stay put, not running but lacing up my shoes “just incase” for now. I let him hug me and I hear his words and roll them over I my head.
The subject begins to change in between kisses and quiet moments of staring at each other. I try to let him look me, my face and body and be ok with it. I’m working hard on being ok with letting him see me, with being still and not disrupting any of this stillness with my giggling, tickling or kissing. He asks me what I’m thinking and or feeling from time to time. I don’t have a lot of words.
Time is moving faster than I care to see and before we know it, it’s four the morning! I have to be awake in an hour then operate sharp objects for ten hours. Gonna be a looong day…

Salon Meeting...

2010-04-12T09:46:00.001-07:00

I’m not feeling too hot today. Lots of emotion is bubbling under my surface and I want nothing to do with it. I enjoyed my time writing at the Unicorn café in Evanston before work but when I walked through the door I was immediately annoyed.
I took off my coat, changed my shoes and set up my station. My first one cancelled so I decided to work on my IL/GA State Board issue. I’m trying to get an Illinois license being the state reciprocates with Georgia instead of taking the exam again but it’s looking like I’m going to have to take the exam and I’m not a happy camper.
A new piece of paper on our break room wall catches my eye. There is a salon meeting on Feb 10th. Rage boils under my skin. Calm down. I tell myself. It’s only a couple of hours…
I want to be alone that day. I’m not accepting of it. I don’t want to see that it’s been two years since I met Rob, that I’ve lived two years without him, and that I am being reminded yet again that he’s not here. I am jealous still of my parents celebrating their anniversary. I hate having these feelings. I hate admitting it. I hate that my emotions are all over the place and are out of my control. I glare at the paper, trying to find a way out, wanting to go to Wicker Park’s meeting on the 11th. Hmm.
“Hey Melissa. How you feeling?” Shana, an assistant, asks me as she walks into the break room and sits across from me. I feel myself wanting to be honest so instead of the obligatory answer that consists of “Good!” before walking away I tell her I’m a bit stressed.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, there this state board crap…” I begin, telling her a little about that before launching into Rob and this meeting action. “ I don’t want to do it! I want to be alone!“ I exclaim. “I feel like I need to tell Jeff about all of this. Soon.” I’m trying not to cry, embarrassed at my outburst. “I don’t know how though. I don’t know how to bring it up.” I was seriously hoping to wait on unleashing all of this on him but it just so happens we met at about this time and I feel I’m going to need to explain my erratic moods and emotions.
“Just go to Wicker Park’s or Halsted’s meeting. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Shana tells me. “And with Jeff, just tell him what’s going on. Sometimes you’ve gotta give into the word vomit and let it all out.”
“When will it not be in the forefront of my mind? I don’t even know if I want that really. I have so much trouble just feeling anything. I judge myself so harshly.” I explain.
“It doesn’t get better. I just get’s a point where it sit in your heart a little more. The sadness is always there.” She says quietly then tells me her dad died on his birthday 12 years ago. It feels so good to talk to someone who “gets” it, who isn’t going to tell me to get over it, or shy away from me or my words. “This is part of who you are now.” she reminds me. “It’s ok to share it.
I never looked at it that way before. I’m ok with Rob while he was alive being a part of my life but his death being a current part of it? I don’t do too well with that. I want to carve that part out and forget that it ever happened.
“It takes a ton of time.” Shana says and I nod believing her but not wanting to…
Back to work…
I enjoy my clients. I’m trying to be as present as possible. Jeff and I text each other through out the day. He’s my breath of fresh air. When I finish my last client I get on the train home feeling beaten down but have found enough energy to write for a while. Before turning off the computer a couple of hours later, and climbing into bed, I remember that Jeff told me yesterday that he like hearing me talk. No one has ever said that before. I feel self conscious when talking about myself and about the fact that I almost need to. It’s a release for me, but I’m scared of it though. It’s so much easier to hold it all in. I quickly send him an email before heading to bed, thanking him for his comment.
Five am is going to come faster than I’d like…

Extra Giddy...

2010-04-12T09:42:00.000-07:00

I’m racing up Milwaukee in heeled shiny boots, a dress, and my favorite red purse I bought in Stockholm lifetime ago. Well, that’s quite an exaggeration but it’s what it feels like at this point. I feel I have these chunks of life that are separate from each other because I was and am so different when I compare one chunk of life to another.
After I finished up at the gym this morning, Jeff texted me asking if I’d like to get lunch before he had to head to work. His schedule in a way resembles my former one as an assistant. It’s always changing from week to week. I haven’t had the chance yet to get used to having a set one again, but am enjoying the idea of it.
We agree on the Bongo Room. He’s never been and I have plenty of delicious and wonderful memories of the place from my first visit on my 26th birthday with Kat, to going every time I had an interview, to starting the first day of my life here in Chicago with breakfast from there, to eating alone, with friends, and now with Jeff.
I see him sitting at a table in corner and feel my face light up as his does the same.
“Hi!” I exclaim as he stands to hug me.
“How are you?”
“Good! How are you?” I sit and lean forward wanting to fall into him.
He nods. “Good.”
We stare at each other, smiling. I feel my toes curl in my boots, unable to hold his gaze for too long before shifting my eyes to the menu.
“You look nice.” he tells me. “I like your boots.”
“Thank you. So do you. I like your shirt.”
Dating while having an eating disorder is quite the dilemma. I use the fact that I’m on a date as an excuse to eat whatever I want and deal with the consequences later. This is how the trouble starts and snowballs into insanity. I don’t know how to balance it. I know that for today, to maintain my hard earned sanity I need to order a salad but find myself saying “red velvet pancakes” to the girl taking our order. When they arrive though, I don’t focus on them but on Jeff and his words, strung together into sentences describing his life, his work and find myself sharing details of my own life and work with such ease that it’s taking me aback a little bit. It’s like having my big toe sticking out of the wall I’ve been hiding behind testing the ground to see if it’s solid and safe. The toe is out there wiggling around until Jeff’s hand reaches for it, holds it’s and gently pulls it forward until my foot is exposed. Just the foot though.
After lunch we decide to get tea at a little place on Damen that a friend of his, James, just opened. We sit on a couch that matches my purple dress and continue our conversations about our younger selves, music, past job experiences etc… until he’s got to get to work. I’m not wanting the afternoon to end. We walk to the train and again find ourselves at the corner of Damen, Milwaukee and North Ave saying goodbye and agreeing to hang out tomorrow.
“I mean, if that’s ok.” he says. “I don’t want to eat up all of your time.”
Eat away my dear…
“Of course it’s ok!” I giggle. He hugs me hard and we go our separate ways.
I’ve officially had too much caffeine and am shaking by the time I get home. I quickly inhale lunch, barely tasting the sandwich I threw together and change into my running clothes. I quickly get that out of the way and shower trying to make it on time for OA. I don’t though and resign to staying home and working on my novel. I’m having trouble with the beginning. I’ve written some “middle” stuff but I’m not settled on how to start it. This is my third attempt and I’m trying it from starting on the morning of April 20th, the day that Rob died.
I’m alone at my kitchen table trying to get to a place mentally that will allow me to write about all of this. I have my journal out from that day and am trying to read it without getting too overwhelmed. I write but mostly sit there and stare out the window as if the words are going to write themselves. My roommate comes home and gives me shit for coming home late last night, assuming I was with Jeff.
“I work late on Tuesday.” I blandly say.
“No you don’t. You never work that late.” he nearly snaps.
“I do, and I commute!” I’m starting to snap. I don’t owe anyone an explanation for my whereabouts yet I feel like I have to defend myself.
He believes I’m already spending too much time with Jeff. I believe that’s no one’s business but mine. He continues to express his feelings on the matter before I snap yet again “Maybe I’m a fun date!” I’m surprised at this exclamation. I’m surprised I said it but even more surprised that I actually believe it. For the first time in my life I feel I’m worth dating, and maybe, just maybe I am deserving of someone else’s love.
I didn’t plan on spending so much time with Jeff, and am judgmental of my own process so I feel extra sensitive to my roommate’s observations. Still though, I feel ok with it and plan to keep going whether or not I spend every day with Jeff or simply see him once a week. I like him. Why can’t I just be ok with that?
Back to novel writing. I put my iPOD in when the television is turned on. I try to concentrate. I just want to be alone. My head is getting caught up in future stuff. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to write about a million different other things. If I could just focus on one sentence at a time, that would be great. Easier said than done.
I stop and decide to go back and read some messages that were sent after Rob died from people expressing their condolences through MySpace. I haven’t looked at these in a while. It’s excruciating, wonderful, comforting, and unbelievable. I feel I’m reading about someone else’s life, like I’m not in my body right now. I’m crying reading a message from a girl I worked with at Salonred explaining that Rob will “visit” me in various ways, I just have to remember to be open to seeing it. Being many steps ahead from that time in my life, I feel that I can look back now and “see” all the ways he reminds me that he’s still around me.
I stop reading and ask Rob if I’m supposed to be reading this right now…if everything I’ve seen is him and if I’m on the right path. Minutes later “Addicted” plays on my iPOD and I feel my heart may explode. My insides though feel as if they’re being washed by something calming, something that is involuntarily drying my tears and making me sit up a little straighter.
I need to take a walk. I don’t want to be in the house. I want my head to clear. I quickly fire off an email to mom having no idea what I just wrote when I click “send” and wander to bed.

Facebook...

2010-04-08T10:46:00.000-07:00

The next morning I turn the computer on to see I have a “friend request” on Facebook from Jeff. I readily accept then let my mind go a little insane over the amount of information I choose to share on Facebook.
For instance, my blog. (Hey ya’ll!) My entire life with all it’s thoughts and experiences are documented and out there for the world to see. I chose to put it out there, to share and for the most part it has been met with love. There are times though where it’s been criticized, or my grieving process has been judged and it sends me into a frenzy. I also have trouble with what to write at times, wanting to let you into my thoughts and life but also feeling scared, or protective over all of it to a point where I won’t share anything.
Then… there’s the dating factor. I question how much to share with the world, because well, anyone who walks into my life can read about all my past stuff and know about it before I’m ready to share it on a more personal level with them. Of course this is a choice I make and continue to make but it’s always in the back of my mind. I feel I hide a lot from people out of fear. I fear once I let you in, let you see all of me, you’ll go away, you won’t want me. I can’t even let my own self in. How can I let someone else in?
A coworker asked why do I blog? Why put everything out there in such a way where I can never take it back.
“Sure I get writing in a journal and not letting anyone see that. I get writing to get your feelings out, but why is there a need to share…with everyone?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I like it. I like knowing there are people out there who care or are at least curious. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I don’t share much with people and this is a way to do so in a controlled environment. I feel I can connect with people and share my experience through something that is easier for me than talking face to face. I really can’t fully explain it. I still keep a journal and I am able to write about stuff I don’t post on my blog but when I write to you out here I can tap into other things I wouldn’t normally have thought about for some reason and I (as frustrating as it can be sometimes) enjoy the process.
“I still don’t understand the need for it. I’m glad it works for you, I just don’t understand.”
We have to agree to disagree because I can’t explain it the way I want.
February is tough. Rob and I met on the tenth which is my parent’s wedding anniversary as you know. I’m already feeling a bit squirrelly over it. Part of me wants to feel whatever it is I need to feel and part of me wants to be completely numb. This constant internal battle simply creates anger. That I can do. On some level it’s like I search for something to channel that anger to release what’s underneath instead of just letting what’s underneath out. I don’t know how to unlock it though. I’m not even sure I’m willing.
I like to think we met in February so that after he died the entire month would be filled with the hearts and love. I am reminded everywhere I go that he is still very much here despite all my feelings.
I find myself yet again dating someone new while feeling all of this. I can barely deal with myself. How do I take on another person? I feel like Rob and I are a package deal when it comes to letting someone else into my life. I don’t know how to share my experience out of fear of the reaction from the person I’m sharing it with. It’s easy to just be quiet, or let my anger take over…
My work day is filled with wonderful clients, and sweet text messages from Jeff. Assisting feels like a distant memory all the sudden as I race from client to client, always in motion and never stopping. I had forgotten what it was like to be a stylist. Only briefly though! I enjoy feeling hair beneath my fingers instead of towels or foil. I love all the conversations and the decision making. I also enjoy that I’m able to answer my client’s questions, am able to freely give my opinion when they ask and feel confident in my ability to do so. This wasn’t so much a reality in Atlanta and something I desperately wanted to attain while here in Chicago. The whole experience has been an absolute dream.
When it’s all said and done, I pack up and head home. I missed the Metra (the fast train…) and settle onto the red line of the CTA until I reach my stop and have to will my legs to move to catch the bus home and fall into bed.

Giddy...

2010-04-08T10:41:00.000-07:00

Happy Monday! It feels good to say that once again. This is my first Monday free from class. For now, there are no more model searches, no more scrambling to find more when folks cancel, and no more stressing over testing out of haircuts.
I’ve spent the past few days running, writing, and seeing a few friends. My first full week of work as a stylist starts tomorrow. I seriously can’t believe it’s here already. I’m elated in so many different ways. I’ve been so content this past week and am so looking forward to starting the next part of my career.
This morning I’m up early and downtown at Intelligentsia coffee before the sun is up. I’ve adopted a new routine of coming here when they open at 6am then going to the gym next door. I’ve also recently developed a crush on a boy working behind the counter which has made my time spent here even more entertaining. I’ve only seen him a handful of times since coming but each time have been met with smiles and a little jump in my chest that I haven’t felt in a while.
When I push through the revolving door I see him standing with a girl at the register and feel my skin warm. I’ve wanted to talk to him but haven’t thought of anything clever to say. I notice that he’s gotten a haircut as I approach the counter and giggle to myself that that’s what I’m going to use to chat with him.
“Hi!” I smile at both of them and order a large Americano. “I like your haircut.” I tell the object of my affection while the girl rings me up.
“Thank you.” he smiles.
“Where’d you get it done?”
“A barber shop near Fullerton. It was my first experience in one.” He tells me about his time spent there explaining that he usually gets his haircut every five months or so. The first time I saw him his straight black hair was covering his ears. It’s now quite short and I wonder why he lets it go so long. I’m intrigued by his thoughts on his experience. I like men’s hairdressing and am always curious as to what it is they think and want in their service.
He’s quite talkative and I like it. I tell him I do hair and am always investigating people. Our conversation moves to where we’re from, how we got here and where we live now.
“Atlanta.” I smile. “You?”
“Alaska.”
(What?!)
“I came here for vacation and decided to move…”
“I moved here with my girlfriend at the time…”
“Wicker Park…”
“Logan Square…”
He gets busy so I sit and write with my Americano, occasionally looking up to meet his eyes, smiling and watching him look away first, making me smile more. I seriously have such a fourth grade crush on this guy. He seems to have a very gentle spirit about him and I want to know more.
I order another Americano an hour or so later. He makes it and asks what I’m writing.
“Right now? That’s my journal. I’m using it as a distraction from the novel project I have going on.” I blurt.
“A novel? What’s it about? Or do you not want to say or talk about it?”
Hair, grief, love, and yes I need to talk about it to remain accountable…is what I want to say but reign all that in. Something tells me though that I can share with him whatever I want. I just don’t want to do it yet.
“Oh no, I need to talk about it!” I laugh and tell him it’s about my experience doing hair in Atlanta. The subject of Rob is still lingering in my mind but I refuse to let it out.
“I’ve never met anyone who has written a novel.” Delicious boy tells me.
“Neither have I.” I laugh. “It’s quite the task.”
He smiles and holds out his hand over the espresso machine. “I’m Jeff.”
“Melissa.” I grin and place my hand in his feeling his fingers wrap around it and firmly deliver in my opinion, a perfect handshake.
“Good to meet you.”
“You as well.” I’m feeling all sorts of things spark in my brain.
He gets busy again and I get back to writing. Even though my heart may explode from all my caffeinated nervousness I’m slow with my writing and enjoying the process. After a while though I can’t sit still any longer. I scan the counter and don’t see Jeff behind it. I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I wait another minute or so and start thinking about leaving one of my cards with the girl at the register for him. As the thought leaves my mind though, he’s there. Standing next to me, out of no where and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Hey, I’m about to go on break and was wondering if you’d like to join me?”
EEEEEKKKKKK!!!!
“I would!” I shut my journal and put my pen down faster than lightening.
“Ok. I have only thirty minutes and need to get my things together. Are you vegetarian or vegan?”
“I move in that direction.” I nod.
“Ok, I was thinking about this little diner around the corner…”
“Perfect.” I smile.
He disappears and I pack my things up. Minutes later we’re outside inhaling the freezing February air.
“Have you eaten at many places downtown?” he asks.
“I haven’t. I don’t know a whole lot about this area.”
“I just know this block. There are a lot of great places tucked away though.”
The diner is in a huge building on the ground floor. The ceiling in the building reminds me of a fancy cake with all it‘s pink and green intricacies. We sit across from each other, both of us grinning. After ordering we bounce questions back and forth off of each other. I’m completely, totally, and utterly enjoying his calm, laid back nature. I feel I could possibly open up to him, maybe let him in…but later. A shift in my behavior has taken place since Charlie when it comes to dating. I’m starting to pay attention more to what I want instead of anticipating what they want and just going along with it. I still have a long road ahead of me concerning this project but am happy to be questioning my actions instead of blindly going forward.
Thirty minutes went by like thirty seconds. He’s off work at one and I’m…well I’m off all day and want to see more of him.
“May I ask for your number?” he asks.
“Of course.” I smile and tell it to him as he programs it into his phone.
“You want mine?” he asks.
“Sure. You can text it or call.”
“I’ll text it. Thank you for coming.” he smiles.
“Thank you for asking.” I return his smile and confess that I was going to leave my card with one of his co-workers. I tell him I have to run some errands but am free later if he wants to hang out.
“A nap is definitely in store for me, but after that, I’ll give you a call.”
“Deal.”
He thanks me again for coming along and goes back to work as I bounce to the gym.
After the gym, I head to the grocery store, home, then go for a run. It’s tough. I’m tired and feel my feet wanting to drag. The ground is clear and free of snow and ice so I feel guilty for not taking advantage of going.
Back at home, I quickly shower and spend some time writing. At a little after five Jeff texts me asking if I still want to hang out. I am stupid giddy and loving every second of it. I’m giggling as I text him back saying yes I do.
He calls a few minutes later. We decide on Café de Luca on Damen at 6:30. I really wanted to finish my writing and look presentable being he’s only seen me in my gym clothes.
At six, I’m hauling ass up there. I decided to walk instead of taking the bus. I suddenly feel a rush of negative feelings wash over me. I feel guilty that I’m keeping him out late, knowing he has to open again in the morning. I also feel badly for wanting to finish my writing before meeting up and voicing that. I quickly push it all away remembering that if this wasn’t what he was able to do he would tell me. As I turn on to Damen I see a guy pretty far ahead of me and by watching him I’m pretty sure it’s Jeff. Funny how someone’s movements can identify them.
It is Jeff and he’s turned around, smiling at me as I approach him.
“Hi!” I squeal walking into his open arms, wrapping mine around him.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Good. You?”
He nods. “Good. Looks like they’re closed.” he glances in the direction of the café.
“Well damn. Hmm.” I think for a moment and suggest a few other places nearby. We decide on the Bluebird, a fabulous bar down the street from where we’re standing.
“You look nice.” he tells me as we start walking.
“So do you.” I don’t get to drink him in until we’re seated across from each other at a small wooden table, beer in our hands, still smiling at each other. His warm hazel eyes sparkle, reflecting interest, and attraction. I quite like it, finding myself giving it back. He’s wearing a black sweater that is contrasting his smooth fair skin but enhancing his short, black, straight hair and facial hair. His smile lights me up and I find myself wanting to run my fingers over his as he sets his beer down after taking a sip.
“I admire your writing.” he tells me. “Most people write a few lines and stare off into space for a while but you’re really consistent with it.”
“Thank you!” I laugh.
“I was trying to sneak a peek at it. You really pack a lot in there.”
I nod. That I do and even then it’s not everything which makes me crazy.
Our conversation lasts through beer, dinner and more beer. We both have to be up early tomorrow and both said before dinner that we couldn’t stay out late. We’ve been here for five hours. So much for an early bedtime.
“I’m having a really good time with you.” he smiles.
“Me too.” I like hearing this. I don’t think to say it nearly enough when enjoying someone’s company.
“I’ve got to get going though.” he tells me.
“I know, me too.”
We both stand, putting all our winter gear on and minutes later we’re back out in the freezing air.
As we approach the huge Damen, Milwaukee, North Ave intersection he turns and gives me huge hug.
“You give a good hug!” he smiles.
“So do you!”
We both agree we had a great time and he asks if he can call me again.
“Of course!”
After saying goodnight, he turns to get on the train and I walk home, smiling to myself, trying to hurry to stay warm...

Peace, love, coffee...

2010-04-04T06:53:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at San Fransisco Coffee in Atlanta feeling so in love. The sun is out and the air surrounding the place smells of freshly brewed caffinated deliciousness mixed with a faint sugary sweetness of baked things. I can't get enough. I don't ever want to exhale. I wish I could bottle up smells and keep them with me always. I would like a bottle of Rob, a bottle of this place, a bottle of my parents, a bottle of cookies, the list is endless...
It kills me I can't fully describe all the things that go through my mind when I'm here in Atlanta. I'm both anxious and calm. I'm everywhere and nowhere. I relive all sorts of memories and create new ones. I feel physically close to Rob when I'm here. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I'm surrounded by everything that reminds me of things we did. It hurts in ways I can't describe. I have visuals of places we went to together in Atlanta unlike Chicago. I go to these places and feel closer to him.
Currently I'm sitting at a table we shared one Sunday morning before heading to work. I remember him ordering a soy caramel latte and doing an impression of a southern Baptist preacher, making me laugh so hard I think I almost fell off my chair. I can still hear the tone of his voice now and it makes me smile. When I get like this I want these feelings to last forever. I want to sink into them, hang on to them, and never let them go. I freak out because I know they pass. They move in and out of me like air through my lungs.
Nineties music is playing taking me on all sorts of journeys. It moves from the Counting Crows to the Cranberries. Most of it isn't anything I'd rush home to download but is special enough to float through, to allow myself to drift out to the sea of past moments and live them again. From a church youth retreat when I was 12, to the fall of my freshman year of high school to sitting in the passenger seat of Nathan's Celica on a date, I am reminded that all this music used to be part of "now". It's currently in the past which feels weird that so much time as gone by. Life is still moving and this music is a gentle reminder of that.
I guess while I'm bottling up smells, I'd like to bottle up memories and feelings to keep with me also. My writing doesn't do justice to what's in my head. I feel so completely wide open today. I love being this way. I want to save it and pull out on a bad day to remind myself how much happiness is out there to have and experience. I'd really like to share all of this with someone, anyone really, but I'm trying to keep it with me, hold it, wait for an available, safe, healthy person to open myself up to. I'd like to stop hurting myself, stop getting attached to people who aren't actually there and delve into something real. I think... It's hard to be healthy though when all I've done is hurt myself in one way or another.
After a while I leave and go see Shannon. We're going to have lunch at Alon's Bakery. While driving down North Highland, I pass LaRaine's bridal store. Hearts are on the window and I smile thinking of Rob and him sending them. I remember the Saturday before Easter Sunday, we were walking back to my place from dinner and he nodded in the direction of the store saying we should get me a dress from there. I joked with him saying it was awfully fancy for an Easter dress...
I catch a glimpse of my little Celica parked where I usually kept it at Kat and Gordon's and feel my smile broaden. I am so full of giddyness that it's almost like he's still alive...
It's so good to see Shannon. I talk her face off and wish I could pack her up with me. After lunch I drive over to Kat and Gordon's and change clothes. I run through Freedom Park and into Candler Park. It's perfect outside and I'm elated running through my favorite places. While running down McClendon Ave I feel connected to Rob and everything around me in a way I can't describe. It's like he's here inside me, joining me on my run. My iPOD is clicked into "Shuffle" mode and "Addicted" comes on. I "hear" the words "I love you" in my head. "I love you too." I say back smiling to myself. "I miss you." I "hear" the voice tell me. "I miss you too." I tell it.
I realize this could put me in the category of schizophrenics with all this in my head but there isn't a doubt in my mind that it's real. I remember a few weeks after Rob died, a coworker of mine explained that he'll "talk" to me. She's had more experience with death than I care to imagine so I paid a lot of attention to that and a lot of attention to the little things that have popped up in my path, from a South Carolina license plate to the words "I love you' somewhere to the kind words spoken from a friend.
I am still confused though and still second guessing myself. I have almost 200 songs on my little iPOD and "Addicted" just happened to start playing? At the same spot almost on the street that it played back in October when I was driving and heard it? I wish to myself that my head isn't screwing with me, that this is real and I'm not making it up. Seconds later, while still running, I look up and see a silver car with a South Carolina license plate on the back of it. I'm beaming feeling a calm sensation take over my body. My friend Derek told me that there are all sorts of things out there, we just have to be open to them. This is confusing to me. How come some people are and some aren't? I've felt that Rob never fully left me. I miss him terribly but don't feel abandoned. There's been a sort of calm that's floated around with me since. Whether or not I choose to tap into it is my own choice. Sometimes I walk away from it for a little bit, but always return.
I finish my run and meet Kat at their place when she gets done with work. We walk up the street to Harry and Sons for sushi. We talk nonstop about the events of the past month. I miss her terribly. Even sitting across from her, knowing I have to go back soon, I miss her and want to keep her with me always.
I leave shortly after dinner, wanting to be back at mom and dad's at a decent hour. I climb into dad's truck, and head to the interstate. I feel completely free. I don't live in Atlanta anymore and can come and go as I please, enjoying all the good stuff and leaving before losing my mind. Currently I'm not in Chicago with all it's challenges of the everyday life I've settled into. I'm on this long stretch of interstate with such a sense of peace that I never ever want to leave.
An upbeat song I've heard on occasion starts playing. I'm not sure who sings it but the chorus says "I love you" several times. How do I describe this? I am lit from within. I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. This is the closest I've come to feeling physically with Rob since he died. It's like being injected with a powerful dose of the most intense love you could ever know.
My description of this pales when comparing it to what's happening. I've never had to find words to match a feeling like this before. There is no sadness, no wishing he were next to me or wishing I could share this with him because he's here, All I have is right now. Nothing else exists. It's all I could ever want. If I try to wrap my mind around it, it'll go away. I just have to feel it and hope that I can retain it. It's so strong and so lucid that I crave it, even while experiencing it. It's nothing I've ever felt before.
The song ends and I have to return to Earth. I'm so happy to feel this...to somehow open up to it. I want to be more open to it but don't know how yet. I try to just take everything as it comes and feel privileged that I can experience the short moments like this that I do.
Home. Mom and I stay up talking about relationships and marriage. I don't want to think about any of it. All my interactions with the opposite sex have had an underlying theme of "are you the one?" Maybe it's a human nature thing. Maybe it's a reflection of my southern upbringing. I don't know. What I do know is that I'm tired of that. I want to experience people as they are without worrying about anything else. I want to let go and be happy in any given moment no matter who I'm with or not with. This is easier said than done being I've lived my adult life seven steps ahead instead of in whatever moment I find myself in.
The subject of Rob comes up. Mom says "We don't really know what would have happened with you two if he lived. You were dead set on moving to Chicago."
A burst of anger makes my blood boil. I try to remain calm and remember that I never shared my feelings or intuitions with her. Or anyone really for that matter. When I decided to move to Chicago (before meeting Rob) I somehow "knew" that I would spend through my savings, get into a car accident and fall in love but it wouldn't last. (At least, not in the way I had imagined or wanted it to.) At the time that I had these feelings, I had no savings, hadn't been on a date in God knows how long and the accident? Well.. I did live in Atlanta where anything can happen so that one I wasn't too apprehensive about.
Sure enough, I managed to save up some money, fall in love, get into an accident, lose that love and spend through what I saved while taking time off from work to grieve and write.
I shared all of this with mom. I don't know if she believes me or not. I guess it doesn't matter. I know what I felt. I don't know if she has feelings like this. This is part of why I can second guess what's in my head because I feel like the two people who brought me into this world can't totally relate to what I'm talking about and it makes me feel isolated and alone in a way. I do look for understanding elsewhere and am always happy when I get it, it's just that I crave closeness with my parents. I must admit it's hard imagining them as human beings with their own set of thoughts and life experiences. It's hard to be gentle and understanding when I want something so badly that I can't totally explain it to ask for it I just know it's there and I need it from them. I wish to know them in other ways but have such an incredibly difficult time getting to a vulnerable enough place to ask anything or tell anything. It's much easier to sit in the child role I've been in my entire life...

Full Time...

2010-03-11T15:12:00.000-08:00

Before heading into work today I stopped by Lovely to drop off earrings I made for a girl who works there. She complimented a pair I had on yesterday morning and asked me to make her some that were similar. I was off yesterday and happily constructed a pair that I thought would suit her. When I walked in she just so happened to be wearing colors that matched them. It made me so happy to do this for her that I wonder why I don’t do it more often…
After sucking down an Americano at Cipollina, I peel my ass off the stool I am sitting on and push my arms through my coat, gather my 8,000 bags, and I head into our Wicker Park salon. I’m opening today, working one of my favorite shifts, but my head is full of anxiety. This is becoming the norm for me lately. Each week I can’t wait for Sunday to roll around so I can hurry up to Evanston and cut some hair. It’s almost time for me to earn my second day on the floor. It can’t get here fast enough.
“Hi!” I beam to Brian who is seating behind the front desk, hanging up the phone.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Good. You?”
He nods. “Good.”
“May I clock in?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
I reach over him, press the appropriate buttons, thank him and head to the break room. This is usually the extent of our conversations unless I need something for a stylist or colorist.
I hang my coat up, put my bags down and place my lunch in the ‘fridge. Reaching into my purse I pull my phone out and text my friend Derek about my issues with making my sparklies. His words always help make sense of things.
“Why am I so stressed about something I used to love so much?!”
I put the phone back and start my work day. I take the coffee up front, start laundry, check the bathrooms to see if they need to be restocked, and see they don’t. I fold towels then go see if Derek has responded.
Yup! His words are displayed across my little screen.
“Sounds like you might wanna judge yourself based solely on your own sense of person intent, effort and love. Not outside sources.”
Of course he’s right. I’ve lived my whole life that way. Bouncing from one thing to the next mostly because its what I think you want from me. Doing that is easier half the time than dong what I need to do for myself. I am most comfortable in your space, rarely in my own.
I go back out to the floor after thanking Derek and pull out some foil to tear. God knows how many sheets of this stuff I’ve torn along with my co-workers for the colorists to us to highlight their clients.
I’m still feeling unsettled. There is a constant buzz of irritation bubbling under my skin. I want more coffee. Not because I need to wake up but because I simply want to taste it. I make tea instead and get back to the foil. I then think about what I could eat and go to the break room. I pick up my phone and text a friend from OA and walk back out to the foil. I think about laundry, and check it. Foil. I look at the schedule to see when the next assistant is coming in. It’s Seven and she’ll be here at twelve. Foil.
The colorists begin coming in and starting their clients.
“Hey Meliss.” Stephanie smiles at me while reaching for color developer. “How are you?”
“Good. How are you?” I smile back at her.
“Good! How was your date?”
“Eh…ok. I spent three hours listening while he talked my ear off.” I rolled my eyes. The boy and I met at a coffee shop not too far from work a couple of days ago. This is my first date since Charlie and well, I’d rather be alone than subject myself to any more of that. I’m starting to see I have a choice in the matter, hence the whole project of figuring out what it is I want out of life instead of letting someone else choose for me, or hitching a ride on someone else’s life path.
“On to the next one!” she exclaims before rushing away to start her client. Steph is like a tornado sometimes, breezing from one thing to the next. I smile to myself and get back to the foil.
“Melissa, Cyndi’s on line one for you.” Nyssa, another receptionist appears out of no where, marking something on a day sheet for Stephanie.
“Really? May I take it in the office?” I ask.
“Yup!” she darts away.
I step through the tiny office and sit down reaching for the phone.
“Cyndi?” My eyes focus on a heart that is drawn on a huge calendar on the desk. I stare at it.
“Yes…how are you?” I hear her smile.
“Good, how are you?
“Good. I’m calling to tell you that today is your lucky day.”
“Oh really.” I laugh.
...I'm standing on a train platform, cell phone pressed to my ear exclaiming to Rob that my interview went well, I love Art and Science and they want me back for another interview in April.
“We were discussing you in our managers meeting this morning and we feel that…”
...“Just go,” Rob instructed. “have fun, be yourself and they’ll hire you on the spot.”
“…great progress…” Cyndi continues.
...“I’m sorry, I’m just scared that you’re going to leave me. I feel that I can’t have both you and Chicago.” I say to Rob.
“We want to start your full time…”
...“Don’t worry. I’m right here.” he reminded me.
“February second.”
...“I have some bad news.’ My dads voice cracked in my ear. “Rob’s been in an accident. He’s dead.”
My head begins to swim. I made it. I finished. Its over. Assisting is ending. Right now. “Really?” I exclaim.
“Uh huh. Now you know that we give the assistants a week off in between ending assisting and starting full time so you’ll have time to rest your hands before you start.”
Tears flood my eyes and stream down my face so fast I can’t see. I’m working hard not to sob openly in her ear. “You’ve just made my entire…everything.”
There will be no more racing around like a madwoman taking care of everyone else’s clients. I’ll have my own. No more washing dishes and folding towels but looking after a station again. I won’t be scrambling to find models for class anymore unless I choose to. Maybe my hands will actually heal. I can’t freakin’ believe it! Done and done!
Cyndi and I stay on the phone a little while longer to figure out my schedule. She says she’ll call me later to give me exact days and times I’ll need to be there. As I’m thanking her for the millionth time before hanging up the phone, my assistant manager Susan walks through the door.
“Is that Cyndi or Amy?” she asks, putting her purse down.
“Cyndi!” I jump up from the chair and throw my arms around her.
“Congratulations!” she laughs and I’m crying again.
I’m so happy!” I whisper and wipe my face, giggling at my rather open display of emotion.
“Let it out! I like happy tears!”
I exhale. What I wouldn’t give right now to pick up the phone and call Rob right now…
Nyssa appears again and needs Susan. I squeeze out of the office and let all of this sink in. I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t even know if I want to share it yet. I want to hold on to it for a few minutes and revel in it by myself. I go to the bathroom and cry so hard my eyes might explode. It’s like everything I’ve kept in the past year is pouring out of me. I suddenly feel free to have my feelings back. I don’t have to wear a mask. I don’t have to pretend. I didn’t even know I was until right this minute.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” I say over and over in my head to Rob. I still wish I could say it to his face. I wish I could squeeze him and tell him that I made it! Of course my outstretched hands grasp nothing. I’m not even sure I could have done this if he were still here. I truly believe it was him breathing life into my lungs when things got tough. He caught me when I was falling head first into my icky situational depressions. He pushed me on to the trains that took me into work every day. He never left my side. It was me who started to wander off. I closed my eyes, put my fingers in my ears, shutting out any love to listen to my own self deprecating thoughts.
I fix my face quickly, and emerge from the bathroom before calling my friend Christine and yet again choking out the words on her voicemail that I’m done!!! I send out mass text messages and squeal to Seven and Katie as they clock in. My head is no where on this planet. It’s like this huge nasty cloud has been lifted and I’m suddenly able to breathe. I suddenly feel I have permission to let go a little and enjoy…well, everything now. My days off are going to be set, my hours will be as well which is more of a relief than I had anticipated.
I think about Charlie. To call, or not to call? He was with me the most during all this. I do a shampoo and a blowdry before deciding to call him.
“I have something amazing to tell you!” I exclaim once he picks up. I’m walking toward Starbucks and the air has suddenly left my lungs.
“Lay it on me!”
The emotion drains from me entirely as I hear myself say “My manager just called! I’ve been promoted!” What is this? Why am I not filled with puppies, rainbows and little birds like I was seconds before I dialed his number?
“That’s awesome! Congratulations!”
“I’m so happy!” I don’t believe myself right now. What is happening? A little voice in my head tells me to get off the phone. I cross the street and stand outside Starbucks’ door, still talking. The voice gets louder and I get a little panicky, my left hand starting to burn and itch. Ok ok, I tell it. I’m getting off…
Seconds later I’ve hung up and ordered another Americano scraping that dull, aching numbness off my brain and heading back into the salon.
I shampoo client after client, emotion still running too high to really talk much. When things calm down I call mom and tell her about this morning.
“That’s wonderful!” I hear her smile.
There is a part of me that hates the fact I can’t control my tears right now. As happy as I am I’m embarrassed at such a display.
“I can’t believe it’s finally done.” I choke. I can’t say anything else, cant stop crying.
“Are you coming home at all during your week off?”
“Oh I didn’t think about that! Yes! I can’t stay long but yes. Maybe Tuesday?”
“Ok, I’ll let Daddy know then.”
Work ends late but I’m ok with that. I walk home still trying to let everything sink in. This is the first accomplishment I’ve achieved that I feel I actually deserve. I’ve been proud of other things but this is something entirely different. I feel I’ve worked hard and have gotten to a place where I wanted to be. I absolutely cannot wait to start the next phase of life here.

In my place...

2010-02-25T18:04:00.000-08:00

I'm off today. I got up crazy early feeling anxious. I can't pinpoint where it's coming from but it's eating me alive. I put a ton of pressure on myself to enjoy every last second of my days off that I can't actually relax long enough to do it. It's like I somehow feel I don't deserve to have fun, to have a life because while assisting I've spent too much time being focused on everyone else and what they might need from me at any given time. I don't know how to turn it off. I desperately want to sink into my creative endeavors, get lost in them and scrape away the stress of the week but it never works out that way. I end up being more wound up because I can't think to write, procrastinating is much more appealing, plus I tend to get caught up too much in what people might think to make my jewelry. What happened? What happened to enjoying these things? I used to. It used to dive head first into all of it and get such satisfaction at their completion. Lately it's been such a great stressor that I won't go near the computer or open my box of sparkly making supplies. I'm scared of people again...scared of expressing myself, or letting you see that expression. My inner critic is so loud that it paralyzes me, reducing to daydreaming only.
I spend my morning bouncing from coffee shop to coffee shop trying to get comfortable. Outside influences are grating on my nerves. From the NPR radio playing at one place to the loud mouthed lady yelling her opinions about something she's trying to do with her job to a man sitting just a few inches from her, I'm not sure I'm actually going to get anything down on paper. Cipollina is where I finally settle down. For whatever reason today I'm afraid that if I'm not out and about, I might miss something. Thoughts of food consume my mind. I have no idea what I'm running from or what it is I'm so scared of. I'm sick of picking at myself for not being "productive" enough. Prodective enough for what and for whom? Who's judging me? No one. No one because I can't seem to let anyone in long enough to do so. I can't even let myself in right now because I fear the harshness I unleash on my already fragile self esteem. An hour later when I've left Cipollina I go for a run. It feels good to get out and move. I was hoping for some clarity on what's buggin' me but nothing really happens. Still, I'm glad I went. On my way home I'm stopped at stop sign waiting for a car to pass. For whatever reason I look down and see the words "I love you" spelled out next to my feet. I stare at this image and find myself smiling. "I love you, I love you, I love you..." I repeat over and over to Rob.
At home I grab my purse and head to the gym. I'm trying to slow down, calm down and breathe through my workout. Nothing is helping. When I leave I cath the train to the grocery store, then walk home. Once I'm through the door I think about all the things I could be or should be doing My head is going to explode. I drop the idea of writing, necklace making, laundry, or paying bills. In my room I find a box of "bath bombs" one of my clients gave me for Christmas. I pull out a purple one with star confetti in it, pick up a book and head to the bathroom. I turn on the water, peel off my sweaty clothes and drop the "bomb' in the tub. The sparkly confetti is released. I giggle to myself thinking those stars are going to be attached to my ass when all of this is said and done. I carefully sink into the hot water once the tub is half full. When I'm settled I reach for my book but don't open it. I stare straight ahead at the faucet. Tiny drop of water are slowly peeking out from the spout before falling with a subtle splash into the tub.
"Honey?" I say to Rob in my mind. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm all over the place and feel I can't calm down. I know you're here with me. I just feel a bit lost at the moment. I feel like I'm wandering away from you, letting food, work and guilt run my life. I just want to calm down." Tears pool in my eyes and eventually fall. I ask over and over again for him to stay, to never leave. I reach for and open my book when I'm feeling out of words. I place the bookmark on the edge of the tub. It's centered there, not leaning one way or another. There is no air circulating in the bathroom only a comfortable, still, silence. Minutes into my reading the bookmark falls to the floor. A heavy calm fills my chest as I stare at the spot where it once was. I don't move. My brain immediately tries to rationalize how this just happened. It draws a blank. Carefully I sit up, pick the bookmark up off the floor and place it back where it was. I stare at it, waiting for it to move again. It doesn't. I go back to reading. I'm not sure how much time passed but I feel I should get up and get movin'. I need to wash my hair and rinse the confetti off of me. I stand up turning the shower on after undoing the drain. The hot spray splashes onto my back. I stand there for a moment, not moving before getting to my hair and getting out. I pull the shower curtain back and step out of the tub. My favorite swimsuit from swim team in high school is draped over one end of the shower rail and my roommate's wash cloth is hanging on the other end. I reach for my towel and dry off before pulling out my blowdryer and get busy on my hair. Minutes into this my swimsuit falls to the floor. By itself. I turn the dryer off, walk over to it, pick it up and go back to my hair, keeping one eye on the suit. Again this intense calm washes over me and I feel it's Rob making his presence known. As much as I'd like to share this immediately, I think "who would believe me?" How do I describe what just happened? There is no way really to fully explain what this calm inside me feels like. It doesn't stay either. I do try very hard not to question it but accept that it's happening and enjoy it for what it is before it moves along again until the next time...

Close...

2010-02-05T20:05:00.001-08:00

Close…
I'm back at Halsted the next morning, caffinated and ready to go. I'm assisting Candace today for the most part and feel better today than yesterday. After taking care of several of her clients another one is ready to be shampooed after the usual half hour processing time.
I approach the pretty, blonde with small brown eyes and a head full of foil and get her situated in the shampoo bowl. Once I pull all the foil out I lean her back and shampoo her hair. We chat briefly before she closes her eyes and I continue until everything is rinsed out.
“I like your tattoos.” she tells me when we've walked over to the blowdry station and I've started drying her hair.
“Thank you.” I smile.
“How many do you have?”
“Eleven!” I laugh.
“Really?!” she exclaims.
I love watching people’s reaction to this news.
“I just have one.” she tells me and pulls up her pants leg to reveal a beautiful, small pink flower and the letter “T” next to it. “It’s for my sister. She died about 2 years ago.”
“Really.” I stop briefly and look at her.
“Yeah. Cancer.”
I carefully ask her questions, curious about her experience and she answers all of them. I feel we’re the only two people in the room as I listen intently to her story.
It doesn’t take long for me to tell her about Rob. It feels so good to share this with her. It’s amazing to be able to explain this to someone, to be able to feel close to another person who has lost someone.
“Are there days when grief eats you up?” I ask.
“Of course. One day you’re fine, the next you’re not. I think we’ll be this way our whole lives. It never really goes away.”
I agree.
“Do you ever feel her?”
“I do. It’ll be a song or I’ll see something that reminds me of her suddenly, and just “know” that it’s her telling me she’s still around. My mother feels it too. Something really crazy that happened was one day we were driving, my mom, my sister’s daughter and me and we were talking about my sister and her daughter goes “But Mommy’s right here.” and I explained that no, she was in Heaven and she said “No she’s not. She’s sitting right here.” Children are much closer to that, I dunno, side of things than we are. What about you?”
I have chills. I explain the South Carolina license plates, the random “I love yous” that I see around, songs, the water that turned on in my house without explanation shortly after he died etc…I feel less alone and less crazy knowing someone else has had these experiences. I tend to keep them to myself. Our conversation continues. It’s taking me forever to finish her hair but I’m so wrapped up in this that I don’t want her to leave. I love how she tells me she still gets insanely angry because all she wants is to hear her sister’s voice and she can’t pick up the phone to call her. I love to hear how she’ll take it out on other people, and recognizes that it’s only because she can’t have her sister. I do all of this. I hate admitting it. I hate admitting that I hurt so much that I sometimes want to hurt other people.
I can see myself in the mirror talking to her, big smile plastered across my face, being extra animated so as not to cry. It would be ok to do so with her but I refuse to at work, so I keep the front up.
Later, long after she’s gone I tell Candace about how I loved talking with her and about how I’m so not tolerant of my own process, about how I can listen to other people talk about their experience, not judge them, but judge myself so harshly.
“Why?” she asks.
“It’s opening up…feeling entitled to feel all of this is hard when I’m used to pushing everything away.”
“It’s ok for you to take the time you need.” she reminds me.
I want to believe her, I do…

Song #420...

2010-02-01T13:59:00.000-08:00

I'm up at 5am. My hands are driving me insane. Their constant itching woke me up. I stare at the ceiling, not completely able to see it through my blurry vision but it's dark and doesn't matter. My heart is racing and I'm anxious for whatever reason. I don't want to be an assistant today. There is nothing else going on but that. I'm not sure I can take one more minute of it.
I exhale and pull myself out of bed. My usual routine is accomplished without much thought. My arms begin to tingle and in my head I'm screaming at them to stop. Once the tingling starts it's over with. My hands are sparked again and begin to blister. I can almost watch this happen. They swell and fluid comes out of them taking weeks to heal. I try to ignore this and get dressed.
I go to Alliance to journal for a little bit but mostly I stare out the window, watching the cars and people go by. I love this time of the morning. The sky is just beginning to lighten up, and everything is still practially silent. It's the only time of day I feel still and somewhat calm. When my Americano is finished I pack up head head home.
Once through the door I'm at the computer charging my iPOD shuffle. As I scroll down the list of purchased songs on iTUNES looking for something "new" to listen to I come across Train's "When I Look to the Sky". I don't remember downloading this. I listen to it, while looking at what number on iTUNES it is. It's number 420. April 20th. The day Rob died. The chorus goes...
Cause when I look to the sky, something tells me you're here with me
And you make everything alright.
And when I feel like I'm lost, something tells me you're here with me
And I can always find my way when you are here...
I stare at the computer screen. Why don't I remember this song? How did I miss it? I don't even remember downloading it but it's reappeared at the best possible time. I don't want to feel any emotion. I shut off my brain as the song continues to play and take a shower.
Later while standing in front of the mirror, putting on mascara, tears come. I blink them back. More come and spill down my cheeks. I stand back and wait for something else to hit but nothing does. I'm not even sure why I'm crying. I wipe my face, get dressed, pack up my work things, put my iPOD in my ears, and head out.
I'm working at our Halsted location this week. I walk there when I can. It's a good solid forty minutes but I don't mind it. I'm approaching the bridge I walk across each time I come this way and the Train song starts playing. My brain starts dreaming up images of publishing my novel and how nice that would be. Then suddenly an idea of getting home from work, and cooking dinner with Rob pours itself into me. In my mind he's there as I vent about work, saying I can't take it anymore and his warm gentle self reminds me that I came here for a bigger purpose and not to worry because he's right here. This yet again sparks the memory of standing on the purple line train platform after my interview with Cyndi telling him I was in love with Art+Science, then flashing to sitting on the phone with him telling him I had this feeling that he was going to leave me...then he died...and while it's just me here in Chicago, I know he didn't leave me entirely. He's been on this adventure with me the whole time. It's just that today, for whatever reason I am desperate to hold him. I want to feel the humaness of him I used to feel. I miss his skin, his warm expressions, his voice, his kisses, his everything. My first year in Chicago has gone by, full of so much wonderful insanity. I am grieving the absence of the experience of sharing this life with him.
I am hit so hard with this grief and hurt that it nearly doubles me over as I walk across the bridge. My legs go numb, my stomach is flip flopping and there isn't enough air in the atmosphere to fill my lungs. I almost welcome this, like I missed it or something. I somehow feel closer to him when these moments happen. It's such an intense release that I wonder how long I've been harboring it. I can't fully explain it. Underneath it all, it's as if he's in some way telling me to hang on, don't give up because it's almost over. It's a teeny tiny little feeling that is barely whispering but it's there and I hear it. Do I believe it? I don't know. I want to but I can't see how it's going to end.
The tears don't stop. They follow me all the way to work, into the salon, and stay with me as I do what I've been doing for 14 months now. While folding towels in the basement, I tell Annie about it, looking for some comfort, some sort of understanding even though I feel I'm not making any sense. Her words fill me up and I'm feeling this rush of another emotional release pour out of me so hard and fast that once again it's hard to function.
"What triggered this?" she asks.
"I have no idea. Just this thought of feeling desperate to go home to him, to cook dinner with him and unload all this stuff, then suddenly it was like, 'Wait. He's not even here.' It felt like I just learned all over again that he's gone."
"He not gone. He's still here." she smiles and hugs me hard.
"Annie! Your client is here" Ashley yells to her from upstairs.
"Thanks for being here." I grin at her.
"Always."
I later close the salon alone and start walking home. I missed a call from Charlie earlier and decide to call him back.
"How's it goin'?" he asks.
"Ok." I nod, head suddenly swimming.
"Any good drama?"
I giggle at this. "Um...uh.." I have plenty to say but I can't form words. I am completely without emotion, without anything. "I'm sorry. I just left work. I'm really tired and can't form complete sentences."
There is something inside me that is putting up a huge wall between me and him. Well... I think it's always been there. It holds my emotions, thoughts, myself essentially and bottles them up as a protective measure. Whatever it is that's holding on to everything is protecting me from giving anything else to this situation. It's not right. It never was as much as I wanted it to be. Something beyond me is holding me back and the more I fight it the tighter it holds on so I let go and in letting go, I have nothing else to share. I reverse everything and talk about him until we get off the phone and I walk home and gratefully fall into bed.

Floor...

2010-01-29T14:13:00.000-08:00

When my model days ended and it was time for me to begin my first day on the floor, Cyndi decided that my first one will be on Tuesday December 29th and then it’ll switch to Sundays. There are certain criteria I have to meet in order to earn my second day then more criteria to earn my third and fourth days. I work toward earning each day over the course of four weeks. The rest of the time, I’m assisting. I’m glad that my first day back to work after our Christmas break will be spent in Evanston cutting hair. I’m scared though. Scared of everything. There will be no more help from my educators. I don’t know what I’m going to walk into when I get there. I don’t know if my books are full. I’m nervous that I may not be able to handle a situation, or that I might get stuck on something and not know where to go from there. I stare out the window of the Unicorn Café, watching bundled up people walk by. Something a friend I met in OA told me pops in my head. We were both stressing about returning to our homes over Christmas and she told me to imagine God waiting for me at the terminal when I landed in Atlanta. Imagine him holding my hand through whatever it was that was scaring me. When she said this, an image of Rob smiling at me as I exited the terminal entered my mind and flooded my eyes with tears. Now sitting in the coffee shop, I begin to imagine that once I walk in the salon door, he’ll be standing at my station, never leaving me with something I’m not equipped to handle. Worrying about this isn’t solving anything. Maybe I’ll be booked, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll have crazy clients, maybe I won’t. I remind myself that the bottom line is that no matter what, things are going to happen the way they’re supposed to. I just can’t see the outcomes yet and that’s ok. I down the rest of my coffee, gather my things and head to the salon. “No help for you today!” My men’s educator George tells me upon walking in. “You’re on your own.” “Hey now. If something truly fucked up is going on in my chair, please feel free to lemme know.” I smile putting my things down. “Nope.” “George!” I reach over for my day sheet and nearly pass out. One hundred percent booked. Not one single opening. I put the sheet down, go to the bathroom and cry out of sheer relief and happiness. I spent all that time freaking out about not knowing what I’d walk into. It never occurred to me that I could walk into a full day. It was one of the best days I’ve had in Evanston. I race around at the speed of light, with a huge smile on my face. I am fully present in each moment, concentrating on nothing but the hair beneath my dermatitis encrusted fingers. I don’t feel it though. Nothing bad, negative or painful can penetrate through my ecstatic exterior. I’ve always loved hair. I’ve enjoyed my previous jobs, but this? This is something that is completely, totally, utterly out of this world. I never imagined my love for my job deepening as much as it has. I still view hair as a long term relationship. There are days where I love it, days where I never want to see another strand of hair again. Days that are hard, days that run so smoothly it ends as fast as it started. There are days where I’m not into it, days where it’s not really into me. There are times where I think about leaving hair, divorcing it so to speak to chase after something that appears sparklier, butI always come back. It always takes me back and I love it even more for that. This time though my deepening of love for the industry I believe stems from the fact that assisting is so difficult and I’ve wanted nothing more than to be on the other side again, responsible solely for my clients only and not everyone else’s. My day comes to and end. I’m happily exhausted putting my things away and pulling on all my extra layers of clothing before heading out to the train. I had plans tonight but decide to cancel. Charlie called but I have no energy left to call him right now. When the train starts moving I close my eyes and simply breathe.

Julie and Julia...

2010-01-23T18:40:00.000-08:00

I wake up in my bed next to Lucas the day after flying back into Chicago. He's in town from Atlanta for a couple of weeks before moving to Denver. He picked me up from O'hare when I landed. We went to dinner and out for drinks afterward. Our friendship is unlike anything I've had with anyone before. We don't talk much on a regular basis but when we do we're open books and share everything with each other. It's comfortable, easy and just what I need at the moment.
I'm quick to replace something once I "lose" it. Charlie's gone and I want love. I want it in every way I can have it. Hell I wanted it even when I was with him. Sat there waiting for just a drop of it to leave his being and fall on to me. I want to sink into another human living like a parasite until I'm full and fall away or they pull me off. Ok that's gross but you get the picture...
I'm awake before Lucas. His back is to me and I'm eyeing the curvature of his shoulder. "Stop it." I tell myself when my mind starts to wander. I'm not giving in. I don't need to "replace" anything. There was never anything to replace. I'm going to sit here and deal with it. I remind myself that God is giving me everything I need right now.
He rolls over and faces me, his blue eyes opening. "Hi."
"Mornin' sunshine."
"What time is it?"
"I don't wanna know." I reply sitting up and fumbling for my glasses. "Ten thirty?!" I squeal when I see the clock. I hate sleeping this late!
"Seriously?"
"Ugh." I flop backward onto my pillow.
"Breakfast?"
"Definitely."
An hour later after I've made us coffee and we're set to go we hop on the train and head to "Orange", a delicious little breakfast place that serves orange flavored coffee.
"This is awesome." he smiles at me after we've both downed our first cup.
Our conversation flows from one thing to the next like usual. I'm perfectly content, not wanting to rejoin society when he leaves.
"So, what's the point of your book? What's your protagonist learning?" he asks when the subject of writing comes up.
"How to be herself. How to stop being a doormat and go her own way, even if it's less than popular. She needs to figure out how to please herself and stop pleasing everyone else first. I'm having trouble though figuring out where to go with it. How far do I take certain things, how much do I disclose, what's good what's bad, etc..."
"I think you just need to write. Don't worry about anything or anyone. Just get it out."
"I think you're right but I'm still sketched out by where my brain can go. I judge my process so harshly and of course am scared of what people may think."
"Isn't that what you're protagonist is learning?" he grins. "Not to care?"
"You're right!" I laugh. "You're right I know. It's just hard when I've been a certain way all my life."
A few hours later Lucas is packed up and leaving. We quickly say goodbye and he too is gone almost as fast as he arrived. I feel jarred all the sudden. I push myself to change clothes, grab my gym stuff and get moving even though I'm going at a snail's pace. Once there I lift weights then swim for a while. Back and forth, back and forth, I go from one end to the pool to the other concentrating on spacing out my breathing, the pulling of my arms, stretching of my stomach and the kicking of my legs and feet. I do this until I can't anymore and get out.
Rob's mom let me borrow her copy of the movie "Julie and Julia" exclaiming that Julie is me and I need to see it immediately. Once home, I make dinner and set it up. I knew I wanted to watch it alone because more than likely, I'm going to cry. Not because it's sad or happy or anything but because I have a feeling it'll tap into something I've been scared of.
Oh and I cry. It's at the most random moments. I don't even think I could go back and identify these moments if I had to. This reminds me of watching Friday Night Lights with Kaci and feeling the need to cry. When I told her about this she explained that she feels it's because the show is so real.
I want what Julie accomplished. I feel like I just spent the evening with Rob and that he's "telling" me to get up off my ass and do this. I'd love to get my act together. Really I would. I love thinking about writing for a living. I love thinking about composing the pages, and telling my stories. I love to imagine my finished manuscript. I enjoy playing images in my head of being on the train and seeing someone reading my book. It's wonderful but it all lives in my head, never surfacing because surfacing means it's real and real can fail. Living in my little dream world is so much easier but accomplishes nothing. It's what's familiar though. Sitting in this is what I'm used to. I've never done anything different. It's a slow process this learning thing. I didn't get to this point overnight that's for sure. It took twenty eight years. I'm just now trying to turn all my critical, self doubting, negative thinking around. Sure this task is hard but I truly believe it'll so be worth it when it's all said and done. One day at a time...

Belly...

2010-01-23T17:46:00.000-08:00

It's the day after Christmas. I'm in Atlanta, the sun is out and it's absolutely beautiful outside. I feel completely totally and utterly full of life. My entire being is elated and smiling so hard it almost hurts. I'm going to meet Rob's mom Judy and his youngest sister Lesley for lunch. It's been over a year since I've seen them. I can't wait to catch up with them, to look at his mother and see his eyes and to watch his sister's hands, seeing a female version of his, to be able to connect with pieces of him that are still on this planet...
I'm driving my dad's truck, giggling at what this image could look like to the people around me. My five foot, three inch frame is almost pressed to the steering wheel, singing at the top of my lungs all the way up I-75. I miss singing so much. I find myself humming sometimes while walking the streets of Chicago wishing I could open my mouth and let the words come out.
I stop at San Fransico Coffee only to see that they're closed. Well damn. I drive further down N. Highland, see Belly and think that'll work.
I pull over and park the truck. Minutes later I'm walking inside inhaling the cafe's delicious freshly baked bagel smell mixed with coffee. I hear Rob's words in my head telling me he really likes this place. I can almost see us acros the way over there sitting on stools eating bagels at the wooden "bar", him with orange juice, me with grapefruit.
The memory leaves my mind as fast as it enters when the woman behind the counter asks what I'm having.
"A small Americano." I reply, still taking in my surroundings. Things have changed a good bit. I'm desperate to tell Rob. I want to pick up the phone, call him and tell him that the bar we used to sit at is no longer there. In it's place is a small wooden table. Next to that is a shelf that houses bulk candy. The shelves against a wall that were partially full of various soda and water bottles are now filled with them. Huge glass candy jars filled to the brim with bright sugary pieces of deliciousness line the bottom of the shelves.
I pay for the coffee and walk over to a massive wooden table and sit. I want to be everywhere with everyone. I want to literally run all over the place, take in all the images that are familiar etching them into my mind to take back to Chicago with me so they can be recalled whenever I need a break from the cold and snow. I want Rob here next to me with his coffee, orange juice and a bagel smiling at me with those shiny green eyes. I know he's here. I can almost feel him watching over me. I feel he probably sent me here to be with me in our little spot. He so loved this place. Loved it's old "general store" feel, it's organic fresh squeezed everything, the table we sat at...he appreciated the tiniest details which always made me smile because I thought I was the only one that noticed them.
The cupcakes are still pastel colored, cookies and coffee beans are still settled in their jars, and the flowers are still arranged on the tables, but I'm here by myself. How do I describe this feeling? I'm so frustrated! I feel I don't have time to think or write all it is I want. I can't even identify what it is I want to say anyway. I feel like I'm moving at the speed of light but in slow motion at the same time. I'm afraid of feeling too much and nothing at all.
I can't even identify what it feels like to be somewhere I used to be with Rob. I do know it hurts. It hurts so badly it's beyond comprehension. It's excruciating to want something I can never, ever, ever in this lifetime have again. There are no words to describe pain like that. To have something and then to have it practically disappear in an instant, never to return again is beyond anything I could ever understand.
Mixed with all of that there's happiness. I'm happy to be in a place I used to share with him, to be able to recall our memories to feel him on some level right here with me...

Nothingness...

2010-01-23T16:24:00.000-08:00

I'd been anticipating feeling a void inside of me once Charlie left for Wisconsin. I've spent more time with him that anyone since I moved to Chicago. Even since breaking up, we've still managed to spend the majority of the past three weeks together. Over the course of these three weeks his things have made their way into boxes, furniture has shifted and the living room is no longer "liveable". Most of our time has been spent having dinner and watching Californication until we went to sleep. There were days where he had me laughing hysterically and days where there wasn't anything but an empty nothingness hanging over us leaving me to wonder what the hell I was doing. There were times my insides screamed at me to get up and get out. Even in the middle of the night my body ached to crawl home but I didn't move. When I tried to speak the words wouldn't come. I've never run into a wall like this before. It's like we both were repelling each other in some weird way. Something inside me felt pushed away. I wanted sometimes desperately to place my face on his chest, to put my arms around him, to feel him wrap around me but there was nothing.
The day before he was set to move I sat on the edge of his stripped down bed, legs swinging off the edge like a five year olds.
"I don't like this Mr. Russell." I simply state.
"It's not like I'm going forever. There are still cars, trains, email, and snail mail..." he replies sitting next to me.
I know this. It's not his leaving that is the problem. It's the fact that I will officially have to deal with myself. Everything I've managed to bury during all this time we've spent together will come to the surface and I don't know what that will look like. The unknown is a scary place for me.
We're both quiet, staring out the window. I'm going to miss it with all it's wide open
exposure. It's everything I'm not right now but aspire to be. It reveals everything. On the other side of the glass I see every human on the street below us. I see the cars racing by on the interstate, and the twinkling lights spread out all over the city. I've been on this side of the glass for far too long, watching other people live their lives. I want my own. I want to be on the outside. I want to be on the street walking with a purpose. I want the wind to tear my face off, I want to hear the cars racing by, I want to see the twinkling lights that are in front of me, I want to feel something.
"I have to drop some boxes I didn't use off at UPS. You wanna come with me and I'll drop you off at home?" Charlie breaks the silence.
"Sure."
We're quiet on the way to the store. It doesn't take long to drop everything off and get back into the car. I'm back to staring out yet another window. When we're stopped at a traffic light something grabs my attention. It's a silver SUV doning a South Carolina license plate. I stare at it as if it's the most beautiful image my eyes have ever come across. A delicious calm washes over me as I'm reminded that Rob, in his own way is still here, and still looking after me and I am not to worry about a thing...and maybe...there won't be any void to fill once Charlie leaves. Maybe the void is already present and will fill itself once this part of my life is all said and done.
At my apartment, Charlie pulls over and we get out of the car. He walks me to the front door, quickly kisses me goodbye and is gone almost as fast as he was here.
I walk inside, put my keys on the table, and drop my purse on the chair that I always sit in when on the computer. I turn on my laptop, check email and decide to order sushi online, having it delivered to the apartment. It arrives an hour later, I eat it,enjoy it then read for a little while before falling into bed. I close my eyes trying to identify what I'm feeling. Nothing.

No...

2010-01-20T07:56:00.001-08:00

The word isn’t in my vocabulary. Especially since making the decision to become a service provider nearly ten years ago. I’ve been the “yes” girl my entire life. It’s easier than causing a conflict for me to give into you and deal with myself later. I don’t know any better. Since moving to Chicago I’ve had this innate feeling that I was alone and felt that if I didn’t take care of myself, no one else would. All of my family and closest friends are on the other side of the country. Of course it’s always been up to me to take care of my life but it got so easy back at home to slip into some comfortable way of being because I was surrounded by everything familiar. With relocating I felt I’d be eaten alive if I didn’t quickly learn that I deserve to take up space on this planet. I’ve always put your needs first. I consider your thoughts and opinions on something before speaking my own, tailoring my own thoughts to suit you. I’ve done this over and over so much that in a lot of ways, I have lost what it is that makes me who I am. In the salon it becomes a whole ‘nother issue. While in Atlanta I let you tell me what you wanted and how you wanted it executed. Never mind I just spent three years, including school, training to do this for a living. You’re the client and you know best right? Not always… When work started at Art+Science I was amazed at how many people went about things their own way. I loved watching how the stylists treated each client. There is no set formula, just what works for the head of hair sitting in the chair at that moment. Sometimes clients are cut dry before being shampooed and styled. Sometimes they are shampooed, cut, blown dry, rinsed again and air dried to achieve the final look, then sometimes, it’s simply, shampoo, cut and blow dry. I am extraordinarily regimented in my approach to my clients. It’s how I was previously taught and I never strayed from that. Here, my mind was opened to all sorts of possibilities and I couldn’t wait to get in there and “feel” what it was like to try something new. I have been told many times that I need to take control of the consultations I have with my clients. I need to be confident and decisive each step of the way. I feel like I’m getting life lessons at the same time when receiving these instructions. I can apply these principles outside of work. I feel like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. The growing pains are excruciating and blinding at times but I’m slowly beginning to “get it”. I feared Evanston because it reminded me so much of being on the floor for the first time in Atlanta. My mom reminds me that I didn’t learn all I needed to learn there and am being given another chance to make it right in Chicago. I couldn’t agree more. I don’t want to screw myself over anymore. On my last model day, my last client was a guy. When I was paged to be told he was here I checked the computer to make sure I had his name correct. I then saw it had changed and was a girl’s name sharing the same last name as the guy. I walk out to see what’s going on. A woman and her two kids are sitting on the bench when I emerge from the break room. I introduce myself to her and she introduces me to her daughter. (We’ll call her Sarah.) She is absolutely stunning with thick black hair halfway down her back, huge brown eyes, and perfect skin. She and her mom follow me to my station. Her mom sits next to us and we both listen while Sarah tells me what she wants. “My hair is naturally curly. I straighten it most of the time. I just want an inch off the bottom and I want more layers around my face.” I nod. “Where do you want your shortest layer to be?” She points to a couple of inches below her chin. I ask her several more questions before deciding that I’m going to cut her dry then shampoo her and blow dry her because she’s straightened her hair so well herself that her roots are smooth enough to where I don’t feel anything will bounce up or look crazy if I go this route. I explain this and she seems ok with it. Her mom says nothing. I excuse myself, run my plan by my educator, Melanie while she’s shampooing her client, and walk back to my station. “Um, I don’t think what you’re going to do is a good idea.” Sarah’s mom pipes up. I nod, silently reminding myself that I am in control, and I can handle this.” “Ok, tell me why.” “Well…” she begins and explains her thoughts but it makes no sense to me. I can’t even remember what it was because I didn’t understand her reasoning. “The reason why I’m doing it this way is because she did such a good job straightening it and usually wears it straight. Doing it this way helps me to see exactly what I’m cutting.” I explain and promptly pick up my shears and comb and begin. This chair, this station is my space. I have to remind myself again that I am the one that just trained yet again to do this and by God I’m going to do it! Sarah’s mother says nothing as I’ve already cut my first section of the layers around Sarah’s face. I drag another section over to meet it and cut that one. I do this a third time before her mom stops me again. “I think you just cut that too short. I don’t think that’s where she wanted it.” I calmly take my comb and push my client’s hair away from her face revealing where the end result will be. “This is where she asked me to cut her layers and this is where they are.” I pointed to the space a couple of inches below her chin. Her mom sits back and says nothing while I continue to work suddenly insanely proud of myself. My knees are shaking and I’m able to continue having a conversation with the person in my chair without worrying about what’s going next to me. I know that whatever it is, I will be given the ability to handle it. “Dahling. Are you alright?” Sarah’s mom asks her. “Yes.” “Ok, dahling, I’m going to sit with your brother.” “Ok.” I keep cutting, both of us happily chatting away. Sarah is a wonderful little lady. She’s pleased with her hair once I finish and when I walk her over to her mom thanking her for bringing her in she is also thrilled. “Oh I can tell she’s happy. Thank you so much. It’s beautiful.” She gushes. Her attitude completely changed over the course of an hour. Is this what being assertive does? Establishes a level of respect? Is this what I’ve been missing this whole time?! I’m on cloud nine as I walk out of the salon later that evening. I felt I actually did something for myself. Sure it was mildly challenging but it felt so insanely wonderful to stand my own ground, make a choice, a decision and go with it.

Model Days!!!

2010-01-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

EEEKKK!!! It’s finally happening!!! I’m actually going to cut hair!!! How it works when we’re assisting at Art+Science is once we reach a certain place in class and do our teachback, we cut (or color) on the floor at the location we’ll be placed at for a discounted price. We do this once a week for four weeks. If all the numbers look good and all the people come in we earn our first day on the floor charging the actual salon prices. This happens once a week for four weeks and again, if the numbers are on the up and up we earn another day and another etc…until we’re no longer assistants. I see the light… shining ever so brightly up in Evanston, but first, I gotta get some folks in. My first day is Tuesday December 1st. I post ads all over craigslist, put flyers up all over the surrounding area near the salon, ask former models that have come in for class with me in the past to come in, ask friends and friends of friends. I ask the receptionists to send their friends, ask other people how they did it and…pray. Charlie is coming in and bringing his friend Brian. They are my only two and I’m freaking out all week. Not only am I scrambling trying to find people, I’m also still assisting. I still need models for class on Monday. I am constantly reminding myself every time I want to kill some food, that everything is happening the way it’s supposed to. I don’t have to eat like it’s the last day of my life over something I can’t control. I can sit with it. Easier said than done. On the morning of the first I am in Evanston psychotically early and drinking coffee at the Unicorn café and contemplating a chocolate chip cookie. (Nope, nope and nope.) I’m wearing a dark purple dress and black tights instead of my assistant color scheme of all black or gray and have so many thoughts running through my head that I can’t keep it all straight. I desperately wish I could share this moment with Rob. I’m doing this. It’s actually going to happen. I’m going to cut hair here and I’m so sad that all this time has gone by and I haven’t been able to call him and tell him any of it. It’s not like he doesn’t know. I believe he’s with me always but it’s not the same as physically looking across a table at him while he drinks his soy caramel latte explaining all my nervous jitters and hearing him say “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” I won’t go home and have dinner with him after my day, tellinghim how it went. It’ll just be me and that’s ok. I plan to take myself out for sushi tonight and let the fabulousness of being able to cut hair for today sink in. I just miss him. When I walk in, I see one of the receptionists, LaRae across the salon and we both start screaming and running towards each other, slamming into a huge hug. “I’m so happy you’re here!” she exclaims. “Me too!” I squeal. “It’s gonna be a good day!” she smiles. “Yup!” I’m going to work next to my men’s work educator, George. It feels so surreal to see my name on the books, to have a day sheet that has clients on it, and a place to put my things. My head is swimming as I see I’m booked today with the exception of one opening. My day moves smoothly, wonderfully and happily. I enjoy the company of all my clients. I can’t even believe the girl behind the chair is me. She is the person she wanted to be in Atlanta but never made it. She’s talkative, animated, decisive, confident, and actually believes what she’s saying. She is utterly grateful for a “second chance”. The skin on my hands is practically normal by the end of the day. I absolutely cannot believe it. Even after touching wet hair all day, the swelling and redness is almost gone. They don’t itch as much and there isn’t any blistering. I remind myself to google dermatitis and see if its stress related even though I already know more than likely, yes it is and more than likely, when I stop assisting, it’ll go away almost entirely even though the cold climate will keep the skin dry. Charlie joins me for sushi after work. I’m happy for his company. We stay up late watching Californication until our eyes are too heavy to stay open…

Changes...

2010-01-16T17:31:00.000-08:00

I'm overwhelmed with the amount of stories, experiences, changes, moments, and feelings that have come and gone since posting my last blog. I was even behind posting the past two or three when I actually got around to doing it. Charlie and I broke up in November if that gives an idea of how much I've been slackin'.
When I think about writing I start getting prickly under my skin and the task of writing out all the things I want to share with you becomes a little much. This is what I'll go with for now...
The next day at work after the class I had where Annie said I was an author I was tearing foil for the colorists when I suddenly had a feeling that Charlie was moving. I've known that he hasn't been happy in Chicago for quite some time and has wanted to live in northern WI. I have no evidence to support this feeling, it just popped in my head. I keep tearing foil.
Later that same day I remember that I emptied my camera's memory card onto his computer back in September. Three hundred of my pictures are residing on his laptop. He's out of town but a week later I'm sitting in the passenger seat of his car while the rain pounds the pavement beneath us as he picks me up from work in Lincoln Park. He tells me he hasn't burned the pictures to the disk yet and wants to know if I want to get sushi. I know this is trouble yet I find myself agreeing.
In the week that we've been apart the swelling and craziness my dermatitis has wrecked through on my hands has gone down considerably. I feel like I've been asleep for nine months and living in a dream world. It's like something has been there all along patiently and quietly trying to wake me up, trying to make me see that I can't "lay in bed" and "sleep" all day. It was wanting me to see that this relationship wasn't working. I chose to turn away from this though. It felt so warm and nice in my "bed" that I shooed away the nagging feeling until it's only choice was to step away from my stubbornness, get Charlie and make him do it. I settled into the comfortable loveliness of our routine together, not wanting to see anything else. Now that I'm "awake" I can see that I've made a mess of everything. I've let my little spirit become overgrown with nasty, negative thoughts that intertwine themselves all over my "body", squeezing it, cutting off it's air supply. Quickly I begin to struggle within this entrapment, tearing away at these thoughts, cutting them apart, scrambling to undo the damage.
Dinner of course is wonderful. It's everything it should have been the whole time we were together. We talk, laugh and share the details of our past week. He listens, and is so attentive that while I enjoy it, I know this whole thing isn't real. He can't keep it up and well, neither can I but for right now, I want to enjoy the facade.
I spend the night. We spend the morning together. He tells me he's moving to WI. He's got three more weeks to pack and settle everything up in Chicago before leaving. The only thought that comes to mind is "thought so." I don't feel anything and find that scary.
After we've gone our separate ways for the day, I go for a run and start to fear what might happen once he's gone. I'm reminded of when my former roommate Kaci left and how much that hurt. I wasn't prepared to feel any of that. She was my "home base" so to speak. The person I depended on to be there when I came home. When she left, Charlie became that person. Since we've broken up I've been investigating both of those situations, recognizing the unhealthy attachment I've formed to both people. I've seen that I have behaved this way my whole life. I bounce from one person to the next,never learning to build my own foundation to stand on but hitching a ride on others. When they move on I freak out, feel abandoned and begin the search again. This time, while out of habit I've got one eye out in the open looking around, the other is looking inside. It's searching for my likes and dislikes, for my opinions, for my thoughts, for what it is I want to do with myself, for now and for later. It's searching for what makes me, well, me. I lost that person somewhere in life, covered her up with the garbage from everyone else's expectations. Really though, even under all of that, ultimately, I'm simply looking for love. It's what I've been on the hunt for all my life. I've just now gotten around to seeing that the type of love I'm wanting is the type I can't get from another human. I have to find it within myself.
Folks talk about that all the time. We're consistently told that in order to love someone else you have to love yourself first, but seriously? What does that look like? As children we're praised for pleasing other's. Who doesn't love praise? For me, as I've gotten older, I've become almost addicted to that praise. I'll do whatever it takes to receive it. I've never been ok with saying "no" or creating some sort of conflict in the name of my own desires. It's so easy for me to hear about you and what you want to do and adopt your thoughts and opinions. It's too much work to find my own. Plus, I won't be able to "stand it" if you don't like my beliefs, thoughts and opinions.
Well, fuck that. It's too much work to keep this up. For the first time in my life, I'm going to step out in another direction and try going down a different path. I just want to see what could happen if I try something new. Sure, I'm scared. I fear what you'll think of me. I fear I won't be able to keep it up. I fear I'll get stuck in something again that looked a lot like this past situation, but there's a part of me that knows better. Somewhere while I was "sleeping" and moving through my dreamworld, I got stronger. I began developing a spine. Why it took being with Charlie for this to happen I don't think I'll ever know. What I do know is that he's the last person that I, as I've known myself to be, will ever be again. From this moment forward, I want so badly to be different that I believe I'm willing to work for it, put in the effort and just see what happens. Lord knows I can't go back to where I was...

Author...

2010-01-03T14:02:00.000-08:00

I sit at Lovely, drink a huge Americano and write. I thought it would feel weird without Charlie here but it’s ok. It’s like he’s out of town for a while. I do still look up every time I hear the door through, half expecting him to enter. I did this even when he really was out of town, always hoping that whoever was entering was him.
I fill the pages of my journal with all the insanity that’s been waiting to be unleashed. I don’t hold back, I let my head run free through the swamp of all the nastiness and then when I’m finished (for now) I “clean” myself off and get on with my day.
I run and run and run. It’s amazing. I remember that sixteen mile run I went for after Rob died and how it hurt and was rather long but completely amazing. One day, I want to try it again.
I get cleaned up and head up to Wicker Park for class. I’m walking at the speed of light. I can’t wait to see Annie, to be with everyone and to happily sink my fingers and shears into wet hair.
I pull open the heavy door and Annie’s the first face I see.
“Mama!” she beams walking toward me, arms open wide.
“Hi!” I run toward her like I used to do with all my friends when I was in elementary and middle school.
We plow into each other and I feel the tears start to fall. Not because I’m sad, but because I feel so much relief and love and have missed it so much.
“C’mere.” she pulls away, smiling at my wet face.
Again, in the break room, everything spills out of me. When I’m done talking she examines my face again.
“You’re different. Like, more open.”
I laugh. “I totally feel that way! It’s incredible! I don’t feel scared of everything all the sudden and I’m actually ok being myself simply because I deserve to be. I don’t know what happened.”
She hugs me again and we walk back out the floor and set up for class.
“Ok you guys!” Mel exclaims. She and Tara, another educator are standing up at the front of the salon with a chair positioned to face all of us who are now seated in a semi circle in front of it. “Theory today is going to be on consultations. We’re going to do a little role playing to strengthen your consultation skills and help you with any issues you might run into.”
Minutes later I’m standing with my co-worker Yeefah in the chair trying to not only remember all the “right” questions to ask but come up with something for her hair. I’m feeling completely incapable of this task right now. I stumble a little and once we’re through it Mel says to me, “Melissa, I need you to be more confident.”
I need me to be more confident too. I want to tell her to hang on a second, I’ll get better, it’s going to happen, I’m just now getting around to standing up again and dusting myself off.
“Ok, you guys switch.” Mel instructs.
It’s my turn to sit in the chair. Yeefah begins asking me questions. I’m supposed to be a “wishy-washy client, never giving a straight answer.
“So tell me, what do you do for a living?” she asks me.
“I…work from home.” I reply, thinking about writing my book. An image of Charlie in his chair by his living room window pops in my head.
“Oh! What do you do?”
I glance at Annie. She’s beaming and answers for me “She’s an author.”
My heart fills as I swear she just read my mind. I want it. There is nothing stopping me. I can have it. I don’t know how yet but I’m going to keep at it…
Later Mel hugs me and says “I didn’t mean to pick on you earlier.”
I laugh. “You’re not picking on me! It’s true!” I hug her again and go to my station. What I don’t say is all the crap that happened at Van Michael in Atlanta and how I was never taught to have any sort of confidence behind the chair. I let my clients run the show because somehow I believed everyone knew better than me. How this happened when I’m the one that trained for all of this I don’t know. Art+Science has helped rebuild or actually I should say they’ve given me the confidence I currently posses to perform better behind my chair, to take control, make decisions and not be afraid.
I also refrain from telling her that I lost myself completely in my relationship and am now trying to get back to figuring out who I am.
“Melissa, you’re first one is here.” Nyssa, the receptionist tells me as I’m finishing some oatmeal in the break room.
“Thanks lady!” I reply. I quickly wash my bowl and head out to the floor to get this day started.
A couple of hours later a fellow couch surfer Darrick is in my chair. Immediately we have an insane, intense conversation. He’s way younger than me but has had so many experiences and shares his feelings so openly and honestly that it overwhelms me in the best way.
He’s a musician, writing his own songs. I talk about my blog, about Rob and about the novel I’ve been pecking at. He listens intently, without judgment and shares his own story. Talking to him is like applying a soothing balm to an open, aggravated wound. We agree to get coffee sometime soon.
After packing up my things, I meet Seven and several other co-workers around the corner at a fabulous little pizza place. It’s packed but I don’t mind like I usually do. I’m happy to be with everyone and am wondering where this is coming from. I actually want to be out? Who is this girl?
We all talk and laugh and eat deliciousness. One of my educators gives me a ride home. I stay up and write until midnight, unable to sleep. I need to get back to writing my novel but my journal is begging for attention right now. One of these days everything will be balanced again…

Yoga...

2010-01-02T14:10:00.000-08:00

Months ago I heard about a yoga class that takes place at one of my favorite stores (lululemon!) on Sunday mornings. I think a lot about it but have yet to go because of work or because I’ve chosen to spend the day with Charlie.
When I wake up, I make breakfast, and turn the computer on. I want to write today but when I have unlimited amounts of time to do so, I get a little squirrelly and avoid it. When I don’t have much time, well, I can compose all sorts of masterpieces. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready to let myself in and get to a place where I can write at the moment so for the time being, I email people, post an ad for models for class on Monday and lust after pretty things on etsy.com.
I feel myself getting antsy. I pull on a pair of jeans and my favorite hoodie and take a walk to Alliance for an Americano. I’ve been in Chicago a year now. Alliance was the spot I went to when I was feeling sad. Some of my favorite blogs were written here. I used to watch the snow fall letting my mind wander in and out of memories of Rob, Atlanta, Pete, and everything I wanted to get away from. Chicago has become the safest place in the world to me. A place where I can be myself and be free of any expectations, real or perceived. Everything has moved at the speed of light. I feel in a way, without Charlie now, I’m back where I started a year ago. I’m back to a place where I’m figuring things out again, and moving forward. This time though, it’s better. I feel better equipped. The feelings of heaviness I’m experiencing now are familiar and comforting in a way. I don’t question it or push it away too hard. I understand that for me, this is my normal reaction to loss. I already know the steps I’ll have to take, the things to do and not do to get through it.
The sky is gray and the air is quite chilly as I make my way down Division. I am reminded of the long walks I took even on the coldest days during the holidays last year. I just needed to get out and move, even if it meant having the wind tear the skin off my face. The cold sometimes felt better than whatever it was in my head.
While walking, my mind conducts all sorts of compositions and ideas of things to explore and write about. It’s coming at me so hard and fast that it’s exhilarating but frustrating because I know I’ll never be able to capture all of it. Even with keeping a notebook with me all the time I can’t possibly write everything that goes through my head. I sometimes have to just sit still, wait for all the thoughts to calm down before I can actually write. This frustrates me further because I’m afraid of forgetting. I try to remind myself that whatever ends up on the paper is supposed to be what’s there.
I order an Americano at Alliance and walk home. My head bounces back and forth between wanting to write and wanting to take this yoga class. I’m supposed to meet Christine later and go her parent’s house with her. I don’t have time to both write and do yoga.
Once I’m home I decide that writing will wait because I’ve put off this yoga class long enough. I want to see if I can mentally get to a calmer place and open some things up. I also feel my body deserves to be stretched and challenged differently than what I’m used to. I quickly get ready and run up to the store.
Once inside, I spread my mat out, take off my shoes and sit quietly. I am unaware of myself. Any residual self consciousness I’ve felt lately has left me completely. I feel I deserve to be taking up space here. I watch the people around me, stretching, sitting, breathing. My surveying is interrupted when the instructor comes up to me, introducing herself and asking if there’s any injuries I’m working on today. I smile and shake my head thinking there is nothing physical that I’m working on anyway.
The class begins with everyone sitting and facing forward. The instructor quietly explains that yoga is the practice of connecting the mind, and body, and is to help us become closer to our divine spirit through meditating and breathing. She reminds us that we’re striving for a connection, not perfection.
I don’t blink for what seems like forever, starring straight ahead, listing to this woman’s soft voice. When she says connection I feel tears spring to my eyes. That’s it… what I was missing with Charlie. I feel emotionally starved. Physically he was always there. I so wanted to connect with him emotionally, to dig deep into him, know him, share myself with him. Instead while trying to figure it out, I kept suppressing everything, kept waiting for a perfect time to bring whatever it was I wanted up. There is no perfect time, only what I choose to do and not do.
“You are not your body, or your thoughts.” the instructor goes on. “What I want you to do right now is to close your eyes and focus on something you want to get out of this class today. What are you needing in your life right now? Take a few deep breaths and focus on that for a few minutes.”
I inhale, exhale and think what is it do I want? Ah, to be vulnerable. I want to open up and feel whatever it is I need to feel. It’s too much work to keep it all in, but I’m not completely sure how to get to a place where I can accept any feelings of openness. If I open up, the hurt will pour in and I don’t know if I can take that rush just yet.
We’re instructed to lay on our backs and continue breathing. I feel my body sink into the ground. I let myself talk to Rob a little bit. I apologize for not talking to him much lately. I apologize for refusing to pay attention to obvious things. I ask for his help, for comfort. I tell him I want his hand to hold mine, I want his love, I remind him that I miss him terribly.
In admitting this I can see that I have so much grief left swimming around inside me. I haven’t allowed myself to properly acknowledge it. It’s like I feel I should be done already. In reality though, I’m not. It’s still there and it’s still needing attention. I no longer have Charlie to focus on and I’m somehow feeling something deeper than I ever thought possible. It’s a need to explore these feelings of loss, to connect once again with Rob as I now know him. As Nathan reminded me shortly after Rob’s funeral, “this is your new normal.” I didn’t really want to see that.
The instructor continues to have us gently move into pose after pose. I feel my body sink further into each one, not wanting the class to end. It feels so good to move, to breath and be calm, if only for an hour.
As the class comes to an end, we’re all laying on our backs again. The instructor gingerly walks around between our scattered mats and still bodies. I feel her stop behind my head. Her cool, soft hands, press into my shoulders, before reaching under my neck, picking up my head and gently pulling it, stretching my neck before placing it back down on the mat and walking away. This simple gesture brings tears to my eyes. I desperately want to be touched, want to feel connected and loved.
I breathe in an out, I let my mind briefly explore a memory I have of Charlie and me slow dancing in his living room. Except my face isn't inches from his as it should be. I'm sitting on his couch, watching him dance with a shell of a human that looks like me, sounds like me, but the actual person that is me? She's observing this memory, completely removed from the situation. This is how I've felt the whole time. Detached, watching my life wondering when I was going to step out of this fog.
The class ends. I walk home feeling refreshed and pleased with myself for finally doing something new.
Later, after a shower, my phone beeps with a text from Christine. “I’m here!” I run downstairs and hop in her car.
“Hiiiii!!!!” I squeal, hugging her. I don’t remember the last time I saw her. It’s been over a month for sure.
“Ok! Talk!” she instructs while putting the car in drive and pressing the gas.
I begin starting with my teachback. I talk some about Rob and she stops me.
“You do realize that it really hasn’t been that long since he died and it’s still ok for you to be sad.”
“I don’t like admitting that but I know you’re right.” I reply.
I talk and talk and talk until we’ve reached the grocery store where she’s needing to pick up some things for her parents. I am exhausted once I stop.
“Melissa, do you feel like your self esteem was broken?” she asked while picking up and apple and inspecting it.
I slowly, wordlessly nod, feeling completely ashamed of myself.
“I thought so.” she placed the apple in a plastic bag containing three other apples. “I was getting worried about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You stopped being you.” she turned to look at me. “You got really self conscious and indecisive and you weren’t your typical bubbly self.”
I look down and nod again. “I know. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t like who I was but couldn’t seem to climb out. I know Charlie’s right and all of this is for the better for sure, but it still hurts.”
“And it will but you’ll be ok.”
“I know.” I smile.

Shampoo,Blowdry, Repeat...

2010-01-02T13:36:00.000-08:00

At 4:45am, my eyes are open wide, blinking at the ceiling. Last night comes at me faster than lightning and I can’t breathe again. I lay there, thinking about getting up. It would be in my best interest to go back to sleep but I can’t. I roll out of bed, still wanting air. My hands reach for my running clothes and toss them aside as I peel off my pajamas then pull on my favorite pants, sports bra and sweatshirt. I push my feet into my shoes, walk into the kitchen, grab my iPOD and keys and go outside.
The air I was desperately looking for fills my lungs as my feet pound the pavement. I am nothing and nowhere as I run down Milwaukee Ave. My head has nothing to focus on except the music playing in my ears and the direction I have to go in. I make it to Grand Ave, turn around and head back. I should go home but my legs take me across Division and further up Milwaukee Ave. I go my usual route, turning on to Damen and going for a while before realizing that I do have to work, and if I don’t head back I’m going to be scrambling to get there.
I try to write in a Starbucks with a grande soy latte once I get over to the Lincoln Park area. My head is drowning in a sea of thoughts and craziness. An hour later I’m shampooing for a stylist, remembering work is my little island away from my thoughts, and the life I carry on outside of the building. For eight hours I can rest in this escape and simply do what I know best. Shampoo, blow dry, repeat…
“Melissa?” Seven’s voice has a sternness to it as she approaches me. I’m standing at the sink, washing the color bowls.
“Yes love?” I smile. She met me for coffee earlier and discussed last night’s recent developments. She asked if I’ve cried yet to which I replied no, unsure of whether I would or not. We’ve currently been so busy working that we’ve barely spoken since.
“Do you know where we keep the cotton?” she asks through clenched teeth.
I look over her shoulder to see a woman standing in front of the mirror, her face inches from it, rubbing at her skin around her hairline with a paper towel.
“Um, I don’t but I will find some. What’s going on?”
“She’s insane. She can’t use a towel to get the color off her hair because it’s “dirty”.”
“Does she not think we wash them?” I giggle.
“I dunno, but I want it to be over. She thinks she needs cotton to get the stuff off.”
“I’ll be back.”
I race downstairs to the stylist’s floor and dig through all the spaces I think might be holding the cotton. Finally I have to ask my manager Patrick where it is.
“C’mere.” he says, stepping away from his client. I follow him to the basement. “What’s going on?”
“Oh Seven’s client is being crazy. She needs cotton to get the color off her skin.” I say to Patrick’s back as he examines the shelves that hold our extra product.
“Huh. I thought it was here.” he turns around. “There it is. How much do you need?”
“Who knows.” I laugh. I take a handful and we head back upstairs.
“Patrick?” I say as his foot steps on the first step. He turns to face me. “Can I share something with you?”
“Of course.”
This feels so awkward but I can’t help it, I want to tell him.
“Charlie and I broke up.” I exhale.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. I just, I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”
“No problem. I’ll be around later if you want to talk.”
“I do.” I say before I can think.
“In a way I guess I should say congratulations. If it’s not working then well, it doesn’t do any good to stay in it.”
“You’re right.” I smile. We head upstairs and get back to our clients.
I race around the entire day, smile intact, eyes sparkly and slightly crazy, hands always in motion, with air being the elusive necessity. Nothing is worse than Rob dying. I remind myself. I can do loss. I’ve been doing loss. All of these feelings are familiar and nothing in comparison to what I’ve already been through.
Yet I still fear it. Still afraid of what might happen when the hurt catches my speedy little self, wraps it claws around my neck and squeezes.
No. I won’t be allowing that. I again, have to remind myself. It’s ok to be upset but I’m not sinking into it, it’s not going to steal my life. I will continue to move forward, and know there is something else to be learned, something else to be experienced and this is simply part of the process.
I find myself back in the basement again a little later. I’m not sure why. I glance at the computer and turn to go back up when suddenly I’m doubled over and tears are pouring out of my eyes. It hits hard and fast and I let it wash over me. I allow the tears to come knowing they won’t be back. Quickly, I let the thoughts pass through my mind. I won’t be going to Charlie’s after work, I won’t be making dinner with him again, no more mornings at Lovely with coffee and muffins. I’m no longer part of a “couple” but walking a new path all on my own. It’s ok. I’m ok.
I stand upright again once my crying has stopped. I wipe my face, inhale, exhale and head back upstairs.
“I know you’re not going to want to hear this right now but this breakup couldn’t have happened at a better time.” Patrick tells me after taking a sip of his beer. We’re seating across from each other at a little bar next to the salon. Work is done, and I’ll be heading home to get ready for Seven’s birthday action soon. “You’re going on the floor soon and will be able to focus all your energy into building your business.”
“You’re right.” I smile. I know I couldn’t handle Evanston if I were still in this relationship.
Rarely do I say anything but hello and goodbye to Patrick. Even when he’s cutting my hair I’m usually very quiet. I’ve gravitated toward him though since I started working at Art+Science. I’ve felt the need to share all sorts of things about Rob, work, and now Charlie with him but I haven’t let myself open up. The flood gates open up though and I vomit up all the insanity my head has been through these past nine months. I talk and talk and talk. He listens and allows me speak freely. I’m surprised at myself but so grateful for all of this. I’ve been silent for so long and now everything is pouring out of me faster than I can keep up with. I feel completely free…
At home, I’m dancing around my apartment, mascara wand in hand, haphazardly getting ready to meet up with everyone. Dressed in my favorite purple sleeveless top, and jeans, I’m searching for shoes, stopping to apply more make-up and contemplating what earrings I’m going to wear if any. I feel desperate to write, dance, sing express myself in any which way I can. I’ve contained all my thoughts and emotions for far too long and had no idea.
“Hi!” I squeal when I see Seven sitting among a group of people I’ve never met before.
“Hello love!” she stands, hugs me and introduces me to everyone. I sit next to her friend Kate and we start talking about work. She works for the salon I interviewed at before Art+Science. After hearing about her life there I am filled with gratitude once more to be right where I am.
“Melissa!!!” my co worker Candice yells upon approaching our table.
“Hi!” I exclaim, jumping up to hug her.
“You never come out!” she laughs.
“I know.” I lower my eyes knowing this will change and soon I’ll be more comfortable in social situations. I will no longer be preoccupied as to whether or not Charlie will want me. I want me and that’s enough. These people right here want to be with me and it’s more than enough.
“Let me buy you a drink!” she smiles.
Here we go…
I maintain a perfect buzz all night, never having too much but over the course of the night, yeah, it was more than I anticipated having. I talk and listen to everyone, meeting new people, hearing new stories. We go to another place where we’re dancing around and being silly. I’m still a little afraid to completely let go of myself and get really into dancing but I’m still happy.
Later I find myself in the car with Candice and another co-worker Gianna. We’re off to “Underdog” for veggie dogs and fries. This is one of those places you only go to after some drinks and after midnight. Of course the place is packed. Of course some wasted guy makes some lewd comment in our direction but we’re in and out fairly quickly with three veggie dogs and fries. Gianna takes me home where I sink into the unhealthy deliciousness and fall into bed.

How It Ends...

2009-12-28T20:02:00.001-08:00

I read, saw, heard somewhere a saying that went something like “when you meet someone you’ll know the reasons why you’ll leave them.” I knew on that very first date that this wouldn’t work because I couldn’t get underneath his surface and he didn’t seem to be trying to get under mine. I stayed though. I enjoyed his company, he made me laugh. I wanted to see what would happen. I almost wanted to prove myself wrong. I took the long road around this revelation with him by my side, trying to escape it, traveling in and out of each day to end up where I knew I would in the beginning complete with the same feelings but some experience, some happiness, and some hard stuff all wrapped in one package. This is how it ends…
Charlie was in Orlando this past week. He was coming home on Friday. I was working at Lincoln Park all week.
“Meliss, my birthday is Friday!” my fellow assistant Seven exclaims to me on Tuesday morning while we’re tearing foil for the colorists.
“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do?”
“I dunno. Prolly a bar and maybe some dancing.” she ripped her foil and placed it in a stack that we were both contributing to. “Wanna come?”
“Of course!” I heard myself reply. This took me by surprise. I hate going out on Saturdays. I avoid it at all costs. After a long day of work, I typically like to go home and do something quiet.
“Is Charlie in town?” she asks.
“No, but he will be this weekend.”
“Do you think he’ll come too?”
“I dunno. Regardless, I’m coming.” I reply, again, surprised at my words.
When I talked to Charlie later in the week he said he’d be in Wisconsin with his best friend on Saturday. I didn’t know if he was spending the night or not and didn’t think to ask at the time.
“I need to go to the gym on Sunday. Wanna come with me?” I ask him, determined to keep my promise to myself to lift weights three times a week.
“Yeah, if Scott doesn’t work me too hard.”
Somehow, when I imagined Sunday, I didn’t see myself in the gym, but in a yoga class I’ve wanted to take for some time now but haven’t made the time for it. I also couldn’t see Charlie in the picture on that day. This made me nervous. I felt like this when Rob died. I couldn’t imagine the rest of our day together when he left to go to Robby’s the day that he died.
I later emailed Charlie and asked him about coming with me to Seven’s outing. He didn’t respond but I figured we’d talk about it later. Again, the same feeling of him not being there on Saturday crept into my head. Despite my nervousness at not knowing what this was, I felt calm, like something was with me and somewhere, deep down, I knew that whatever it was, it had me and everything would be ok.
On Friday morning I woke up and did my usual morning routine of breakfast, email, gym, and writing. While getting ready for work, I kept hearing things around my apartment. It was as if small objects like my keys or something were shifting ever so slightly…just enough to make a barely audible noise, but definite enough to where I didn’t question what it was. I heard it. I didn’t feel scared, just a little crazy wondering if my mind was making it up or not. Flashes of shadows raced pasted my peripheral vision. Every time I turned to see what it was that was grabbing my attention, nothing was there. I feel insane even writing this, but I swear this stuff is happening and it’s Rob. I feel that something is shifting around in my mind today. There is something that is letting go, completely detaching, but I don’t know what it’s letting go of. It’s impossible to write about and fully explain, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it’s real.
I get to work and race around like usual. Charlie is landing at 5:15pm. I’m closing alone and will be done at 8pm. The feelings of him not being with me this weekend are getting stronger but I don’t know why and don’t understand what’s sparking this. The only thing I can come up with is that he’ll choose to do what he wants while I choose to not tag along with him and finally do something for myself. It’s like I suddenly see that he’s there regardless of what I’m doing or not doing. If I don’t trust that I’m going to lose my mind in the long run. My reasoning for putting things off when he’s in town is to spend as much time as possible with him because he’ll be gone again and when he is, I can catch up on other things. It’s creating a lack of balance in my life though. That’s what my conscious mind has come up with. The subconscious knows I’m behaving this way because I’m waiting and waiting, hoping that he’ll suddenly wake up one of these days and realize that he wants me and I’d like to be present for that moment. It never occurred to me that I could leave. I could walk away. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid that if I walk away, it might be a mistake. I’ll never know though because I know me. I won’t. Some sick part of me loves the uphill battle of something that isn’t completely right but maybe not completely wrong…
Seven and I are working together again today and she has more details about her birthday. Definitely grabbing drinks at one place and moving to another to go dancing. Sounds good to me. I haven’t been dancing in so long.
At 6pm, I notice I haven’t heard from Charlie. I had texted him earlier saying I couldn’t wait to see him. I’m feeling agitated and negative. I’m wanting some sort of emotion from him. I want to know that he can’t wait to see me as well. Is it that he can wait, or is it that he’s not capable of saying such things? I text him and ask if he landed. He says yes and says that he’ll pick me up from work. I’m ecstatic. I think about texting him something sweet, but something stops me. I need to go to the grocery store. I text him and he doesn’t want to go so I decide I’ll go anyway and meet him when I’m done.
I wipe down the shampoo bowls in the color department, grab my lotion and gloves and walk down the stairs. I’m the only one up there. As I’m walking down, the lights flicker ever so slightly.
“Honey?” I feel myself saying to Rob.
I clean the stylist’s floor, grab my things and clock out. I walk to the store, inhaling the clean, crisp air. It feels good to walk. As I finish up at the store, I start to feel irritated, knowing that I’ll want to bounce off the walls when I get to Charlie’s and he…well, he won’t. This squashes my bounciness and pushes it down so far into some place I can’t identify and produces some nastiness that pours out of me like acid making me quiet and standoffish because I’m scared. Always damn scared of being too much for him and of being not enough all at the same time.
Nothing is normal right now. Nothing feels right. Charlie meets me on Division as I walk to his place. He’s in a bad mood. I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t explain until we walk in to his apartment and the door is closed.
I’m going to keep the contents of our conversation private. While talking though, I feel for a split second my mind racing toward him saying “No, no, no, don’t leave.” but then it stops because he’s already gone. I don’t even know if he was ever here to begin with.
There is intense heaviness sitting on my chest. The air is being sucked out of my lungs, but somewhere some tiny little window in my head is open now and letting out all the negative craziness I’ve carried with me all this time. I can almost feel my displaced self esteem returning.
It isn’t easy though. It isn’t easy to hear, say or admit. I can’t feel or show any emotion at the moment. I know that I need to cry, I need to tear the wall down but it feels impossible. The feeling is familiar though and I know it’ll pass. I don’t want to entirely compare this feeling to learning about Rob’s death but being my current relationship is ending and I’ll have to grieve it’s loss, it’s stressful, takes my breath away and all the feelings associated with loss, for me, are flooding back. There isn’t enough air in the universe to fill my lungs at the moment.
We’re staring at each other in between expressed thoughts. I soak up his expression and feel it’s reflecting more emotion in this moment than I’ve seen from him in nearly nine months. The lights of the city outside his window are still sparkling, the cars are still racing by, but I’m unable to move.
“Get up.” I tell myself. There isn’t anything left to say.
I stand and push my feet back into my shoes. I remind him that I left one of my jackets in his room. He goes to get it while I pull my coat on. I stare out of the window again, remembering him walking up behind me one night while I was standing there and asking, “are you watching the city?”
I nodded and continued, mesmerized by the combined stillness and movement.
I remember I left my contact solution and a necklace in the bathroom. I go to get it, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, before quickly turning and walking out.
Charlie is in the living room and hands me my jacket. He moves forward and hugs me. I feel my arms squeeze him back but I feel nothing. I am completely, totally, and utterly numb.
“Can I walk you home?” he asks.
I nod.
I think about the time he walked me home the night of our first date. We stopped at my gate, he kissed me and said he had a good time and that he’d call me later.
We’re again, at my gate. He hugs me, tells me he still cares very much for me and he’s still… here.
“Me too.” I reply and he walks away.
The reality of the situation rushes at me faster than lightning as I push my key into the door. I woke up this morning in a relationship and I’m going to sleep single. I don’t want to stop moving. I don’t want to sit still, afraid the hurt will catch me. If I don’t stop I know I’m only prolonging the inevitable. I can’t out run it that’s for sure.
In bed I listen to my heart pound and watch images in my head race passed until I don’t remember anything else…

Connection...

2009-12-28T19:45:00.000-08:00

Each time I think about writing this entry, I get stuck. I end up staring at the screen and hope something comes into my head as to where to start. I thought about scratching the whole thing completely and writing about something else but the idea won’t leave me alone. Bear with me please as I stumble around trying to figure it out. I’ll start with what I know for sure and see what happens from there.
Lately, or maybe it’s been for a long time and I’ve chosen not to see it, I’ve been craving a connection with another human being. Not only do I crave it, but I’m somehow pushing it away at the same time because I’ve gotten lost in a forest of craziness unable to accept the help that’s being offered. On some level I want to believe that I don’t need anyone else. It’s uncomfortable for me to ask for help, to ask to be pulled out of the forest and see the light. Maybe I’m not ready to face the light. It’s quite possible that keeping my eyes closed to everything I’ve wandered into is way easier than cracking open my swollen, busted, painful eyelids and let some light in, let it heal my corneas so I can see straight again. I don’t want to do the work. This darkness I’ve settled into is delicious is the best way.
The assistant schedule comes out one week and I see that I’m working Evanston and on Wednesday, I’m off early. The idea of OA works it’s way to the forefront of my mind and when I get home from work that night I pull up the weekly meeting schedule. There is a 7pm meeting in the Lincoln Park area on Wednesdays. I figure out public transit from Evanston and see that I can make it.
I’m excited about this opportunity. I know that no matter what, I’ll be able to connect in ways I normally don’t with other people. I’m hoping that once I’m there I’ll be able to talk, to share and find some sort of relief.
Wednesday comes and I’m out of work on time. I catch the train and head south. I’m getting nervous once I get off the train and start walking. I hope I’m going in the right direction. Despite my nervousness at doing something new there is absolutely nothing that would keep me from going and having this experience tonight. Even if it were raining sideways or I got insanely lost, I would find my way. Where is this determination in other areas of my life? Imagine what could be accomplished if I put forth effort and drive like this into all areas of my life.
I find a non-descript building possessing the address I’m looking for. I push the buzzer and hear the door unlock. I pull it open and walk gingerly up the stairs and down a hallway. I find the room number and walk through the door.
I’m met with smiles by a group of twenty or so people. I smile back, sit down and exhale. I want to know every person in the room. I want to hear all their stories and share mine. For the first time in I don’t know how long my lungs are filled with much needed air. I didn’t know I was lacking oxygen.
As the meeting begins and the minutes pass I absorb everyone’s thoughts, fears and stories. I relate to every single one on some level or another. Relief washes over me and I don’t feel so scared or self conscious.
When it ends I do get a little shy though and quietly walk out the door without saying anything. “I have to come back.” I think to myself. I’m not sure how to make it happen with my erratic schedule but it has to happen.
On the train I see that I’ve missed a call from Charlie. I get off at a stop close to home and call him back.
“Are you coming over?” he asks.
“I can.” I reply.
“I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not.”
Part of me wants to be, part of me wants to see him simply because it’s comfortable, it’s what I normally do now, and yes some company would be nice despite my sudden agitation.
“I’m walking up Milwaukee and will be passing Lovely soon.”
“Ok, I’ll come out and meet you.” he says before we hang up.
A smile inevitably spreads across my face when I see him at the door. Nervous energy floods my system.
“Hey. How are you?”
I shrug. “How are you?”
“Good.”
In his apartment I want to tell him about the meeting but it somehow doesn’t feel important. He’s explained to me many times that he’s here for me, that he needs me to talk and I’m desperate to do so but there’s this huge wall I keep running into. Over and over when I try to speak, try to share, I hit my head on the wall. I’ve done it so many times that the mere idea of talking hurts and so I remain quiet.
Remaining quiet only results in further aggravation. It boils underneath my surface. I try to keep a lid on it, try to sit on the lid to keep it from bubbling over but sometimes the weight of my intent is too light to keep the lid shut and irritation oozes out beneath it infecting anything it comes into contact with.
Charlie doesn’t ask about the meeting but I feel he doesn’t because he’s waiting for me to volunteer it. I do so, a little, simply saying that I enjoyed it and I wanted to find a way to make it every week.
End of discussion.
Time keeps moving. I feel something stirring in my head. I don’t know how to describe it but whatever it is it’s trying to save me from whatever hole I’ve fallen into. It’s starting to gently pull at my limbs, tugging at me, coaxing me out. I’m only mildly resistant and mostly curious as to what this is. This energy pushes itself into my fingers, making them construct a note to my assistant manager in Evanston asking her for the Wednesday schedule adjustment so I can make it to OA. I stop what I’m doing to write this note, afraid that if I don’t do it right this minute I’ll regret it. I place it next to our assistant schedule and continue on with my day.
The next step this feeling has me taking is to promise myself that I’ll make it to the gym three times a week. It doesn’t matter which three days, I just need to get there. No more excuses, no more “maybe next week”, it’s now or never, do it.
So it begins. I go and go hard. Nothing gets in my way, not even the rain. I notice that I stay longer and work harder. The pressure is off to go five or six times a week. Three is enough for now and I know that if I want more, I can go more. Having this knowledge and accepting it has made all the difference in the world. Where was this serenity when I needed it last year or even the year before? How did I achieve this all the sudden?
In no time I find myself online and posting a thread on couchsurfing.com, looking for fellow writers to get together and bounce ideas off of. I’m looking for support and understanding. I’ve let this thought marinate in my mind for the longest time now. Taking a step to reach out means putting myself out there, further solidifying my attempt at writing a novel and increasing my risk of failure if I don’t do it.
Taking all this action feels like preparing for something. For what I don’t know. Maybe I don’t need to know right now but just need to sit back, follow it and enjoy the process…

Novel...

2009-11-17T06:43:00.001-08:00

It bounces around my head, scratches at the inside of my brain, conjures up stories, and ideas on how to put it together. It’ll keep me up at night, tap me on the shoulder in the mornings, consume my thoughts while doing mindless activities during the day. I want to write a novel.
My dream is to sign a book deal ahead of time, and take a stack of notebooks, pens and my laptop to Stockholm where I’ll sit in cafes all day drinking coffee, eating unidentifiable chocolate objects while getting the project done. I want to explore the depths of my memories, thoughts, feelings and share them with the world. I feel that if I accomplish this, I will be able to put a lot of residual feelings about work in Atlanta behind me. I’ll also be able to better understand my feelings about Rob, and about life. I want this. I want it so badly, to accomplish this feat. Starting is the problem. How do I start something this huge? How do I tell the story? How do I get to a place where nothing else matters but what I’m trying to get out. How do I find a place where I’m comfortable enough to “go there”? Where I’m not someone’s daughter, employee, friend, etc…
I’m scared of where my head might go, what might come up and how I’ll feel about it. I also fear failure and judgment so much that I keep the idea as that. Only an idea.
Charlie replaces my battery for my computer on my birthday telling me it’s to start my novel.
“You can now take the computer with you to Lovely and write.” he smiles. (Lovely is the the coffee shop where we met and is my favorite.) The electrical outlets don’t work there so I only bring things I’m hand writing, or I use his computer for the internet if we’re there together. “I want two chapters!” he exclaims.
I laugh and tell him that will take an eternity at the rate I’m going.
“Does it bother you that I bug you about it?” he asks.
“Not at all. I need it apparently.”
I do begin. It’s excruciating. That first sentence is agonizing. I peck out two pages instead of two chapters. I can’t quite figure out how to start. What I wrote doesn’t feel right. It has it’s place just not at the beginning. I keep waiting for the perfect idea to come along forgetting that it’s simply going to take starting and some trial and error before I figure it out. I keep going though, hoping it’ll resemble something soon.
Weeks later I start looking for people to meet with and bounce ideas off of on couchsurfing.com. A guy sends me an amazing article about the process famous writers go through to get to a place where they can begin and write their novels. Receiving this electronic, orgasmic treat is just what I needed to get up off my ass. I so enjoyed reading about the obscure things people do to go to their “happy place” to write. From creating storyboards, to sitting on the edge of the bathtub, to dressing up in character to get the story out, reading about other people’s process helped me to stop judging my own, accepting it as the way I do things and be ok with that.
“What is my process?” I ask myself. This is what I know for sure. I’m controlling. I want it to go the way I want it to go, often being resistant to the story taking on a mind of it’s own. I love writing in the mornings. I don’t do so well at night. With my blogs, I write them in the morning, “sleep on it”, wake up the next morning, revise it, making sure it’s something I want to post, then post it. I know my journals must be handwritten and my blogs must be typed to effectively get my point across. I sometimes write in fragments when I’m upset. I’m easily overwhelmed at times with emotion while writing and other times, there is nothing that comes to mind when I feel I should write. I’ve learned that patience is something I need to work on and trust that whatever it is I need to say, it’ll come out on it’s own, in it’s own time.
I read that this one author writes only what she knows and eventually puts it all together. She has a huge bulletin board in her room where she tacks up stories, thoughts and ideas she scribbles on various pieces of paper and torn out notebook pages. This lights me up and I start to explore this idea. I know that I’m haphazard in a lot of areas in my life. I’ve noticed, or recently acknowledged that when I close the salons alone, there is no rhyme or reason as to how it gets done it just does. If I approach my writing this way, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get this done.
At Borders I buy a huge notebook. I start pouring over past journals, trying to pick out something to start with. I begin writing random thoughts and ideas in the notebook. Some of those thoughts become full sentences that grow into paragraphs. When one paragraph gets stuck I move to another story. When I can’t think of how to start it, I begin writing the ending. When that gets tough to piece together I write about something that happened that I wanted to explore with words, stringing them together as if I were painting a picture. I move the words around, crossing them out putting new ones in the old ones places, I fill the pages that were once blank and while it doesn’t look like much I am on top of the world. I’m learning so much about how to get this done in a way I can accept. I feel in control of something finally. Starting this has helped me see that a lot of areas in my life are out of control and I’ve been acting out in a lot of ways and need to get my act together.
I write while riding trains, in coffee shops, restaurants, and even at home briefly. I type thoughts into my phone, and scribble them on scratch pieces of paper as I move through each day, knowing that whatever I come up with will have it’s own place just as soon as I figure out where that place is.
I start walking more, working through things in my head, start taking the gym more seriously, and feel something in my head is shifting, changing and opening up. I’m letting go of something I can’t identify yet but it feels good so I go with it. I love how in this little corner of my world I can be myself, I can tell or omit anything I choose to. The paper has no opinion. It doesn’t pass any judgment. I can take any direction I want with this project. That knowledge is both daunting and exhilarating at the same time. The process is different than blogging or journaling. I seriously feel I’m constructing a work of art at the moment.
“Where are my two chapters?” Charlie asks over the phone one evening.
“I’m working on it!” I exclaim. I tell him about the email I got about the process of writing various authors use and how excited it’s made me. “I started writing and it doesn’t look like much now but I’m really happy with what I came up with. I’ll show it to you when you get home.”
Charlie’s been in Orlando for a little bit. I hear the words exit my mouth but feel that I won’t be sharing this with him for some reason. I honestly don’t know how to first of all, but something doesn’t feel totally right. I dismiss the thought. Of course I’ll show it to him. Of course. Right?
I my mind there is suddenly no reason in the world I can’t have this and reach my goal of being published. I don’t have all the answers yet. I don’t know where I’m going to find an agent to represent me, but I feel that person is out there. If not, I will self publish and go from there. For now, I’ll keep working and trust that the answers to my questions will find their way to me in their own time.

Teachback...

2009-11-17T04:55:00.001-08:00

I’m awake before the alarm on my phone goes off. I pull myself out of bed, pack my things and head out Charlie’s door and into mine. I thought I’d want to go for a run being I was desperate to do so yesterday but I’m awfully sleepy and don’t feel like it.
I make breakfast, and check email, trying to identify my feelings. I’m nervous. Yup. I think that’s all I can come up with right now.
Instead of running I decide to walk to Alliance and get an Americano. I don’t want to be jacked for this presentation but I can’t imagine not having my usual cup of crazy.
The walk to Alliance is chilly but nice. The sky is beginning to lighten. I love this time in the morning. Everything is quiet and beautiful before the insanity of everyone’s day begins. I’m listening to my iPOD and letting my mind wander as I cross the streets and walk into the little shop. I order my Americano and head back out, almost sad there is no time to write. Once I’m home, I jump in the shower.
While wrapped in a towel, waiting for the lotion I just put on to sink further into my skin, I turn on the tape I have of Rob’s funeral while pulling out the clothes I want to wear today. I listen to his sister Kate speak, smiling at her voice telling a story about Rob and her when they were younger. Tears sting my eyes. I then hear my own voice begin to speak on the tape. I feel like I hear something different each time I listen to the tape. It isn’t often that I turn it on but when I do, I barely recognize the tone of my own. I listen to myself speak about Rob’s love and all that he did for me in such a short time. I didn’t realize I was on the verge of tears. I don’t remember hearing that or feeling it when I was up there.
I pull on black tights an slide on my favorite black dress that Nathan gave me in high school. It’s seen all sorts of occasions from sports banquets in school, fancy dinners, job interviews, Rob’s funeral and now my teachback. Once dressed, I paint my face in the bathroom, finishing with a new cranberry lipstick I bought for the occasion.
While pulling my things together I listen to Rob’s favorite CD. Once I have my gear packed I head to the train.
The Wicker Park salon is only one train stop away from where I live but it’s raining outside and I refuse to walk today. Plus, I’m wearing knee high, 3 inch heel boots. I bought these for work and wore them on my first day. I was practically in tears by the end of that day. My feet felt bruised for three days. I used to be able to rock out the heels in Atlanta, but Chicago? Not so much.
The salon is locked when I arrive. I reach into my bag for my phone and realize I’ve left it at Charlie’s. Dammit. Minutes later Annie and Blair walk up.
“Hey!” I exclaim.
“Mama!” Annie beams, hugging me. “How you doin’?
“Good! Crazy. You?”
“I’m not nervous yet, but will be when everyone starts to get here.”
Blair and I nod in agreement.
“So, I think Paul is going to be late meeting us here to open the doors.” Blair tells me. “I’m going to Starbucks at 9:30 to pick up the coffee.”
I nod.
We talk and laugh about our night last night. Annie and Blair were up with headsheets, a brand new printer Blair ended up buying to print out our booklets, with some Taco Bell and Kentucky Fried Chicken. I laugh with them before telling them I enjoyed my quiet evening with Shannon and Charlie. We decide while standing there to run through what we’re going to say.
Annie starts, then Blair then me. I’m stumbling trying to breathe and talk at the same time. Once I’m finished, Paul is there opening the doors, hugging all of us and helping us set up. Alyx arrives a little later and once we’re set we decide to run through this thing all together.
While Alyx is talking Charlie walks in looking delicious in all black. I motion for him to come over and sit in front of where I’m standing. He does, handing me the “before” pictures he took of Jamie and himself yesterday.
“Thank you so much!” I whisper. He hands me my phone also and I smile. I want to touch him, want to feel calm.
Alyx finishes up and I begin talking. I’m nervous, and going at a hundred miles per hour. I’m focused on not saying “um” and “like”. It’s interfering with the information I’m trying to give. Paul is standing by watching us, commending us on our preparation. The four of us are practically sparkling up there, pleased with ourselves.
Charlie turns to face me. “You’re talking way too fast.”
“I know! I always do that when I’m nervous.”
“Just pump the brakes…”
I just want him to feel proud of me. It’s hard right now to remember everything. I’ve never done this before. I feel proud of myself but want it from him too.
It’s hard and easy all at the same time. I know what I want to say but knowing someone is listening, makes me jittery and I start fumbling.
“Just dumb it down Melissa. You’re thinking too much over there.” Annie reminds me. Inhale, exhale, smile and nod. Ok.
Models start filing in. The four of us begin seating and prepping them. I entertain thoughts of running out for more coffee and a snack but stop myself, knowing I’m just starting to freak out a little and it’s ok.
Once everyone is seated, Paul introduces us. I notice most of our educators are sitting up front. I don’t remember this happening before. I’m so happy they’re experiencing this with us.
He turns it over to Blair who begins by thanking everyone for coming. She introduces and explains her pre-dones before turning it over to Annie. She presents her models and turns it over to Alyx who moves to me when she’s finished.
While standing in front of all these wonderful people who have been there this whole time supporting and helping me through this process, personally and professionally I feel completely, totally and utterly…loved. I find the energy I was looking for, beam and say “Goodmorning!” I’m met with smiles and a delicious calm washes over me.
“It has been an honor and a privilege to work with these ladies.” I smiles, catching Annie’s smiling face. “We’ve definitely had a good time putting all of this together.” I laugh.
I introduce Jamie, calmly explaining how I cut her hair, presenting the products I used and why all while maintaining as much eye contact with everyone as possible.
“My second pre-done is the light of my life! This is my Charlie!” Everyone laughs. Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. I blink them back as fast as I can and begin speaking before my voice has a chance to crack, explaining his haircut and turning everything back over to Blair.
“Are there any questions?” she asks everyone. The sound that followed the question was one of the best I’ve heard. It was complete silence. Usually, questions float all over the place but after passing out the booklets we made and explaining exactly what each of us did, there was no room for questions.
“Alright, well, we’re going to dismiss our pre-dones and ask our live models to come over and have a seat.” I hear Blair smile without having to look at her.
There is shuffling around and lots of goodbyes as our models exit.
“See you tonight?” Charlie whispers.
I smile and nod.
The four of us work on our live models, explaining in between telling stories what we’re doing at that moment with the various cuts an color. I feel so comfortable, pushing the razor through Shannon’s hair. I even enjoyed the experience on the spot.
As we’re finishing up Paul and Susan tell us this is exactly what they were looking for when they created the teachback agenda. We’re all smiling. I’m bursting I’m so happy. I feel I accomplished what I wanted to. I got out of this whole thing more than I anticipated. I learned that hard work and taking it all one step at a time led to something amazing. It’s not like I didn’t already know this, it’s just that I wanted everything yesterday without willingness to put forth the work and effort it would take to get what I wanted. I suddenly feel like I can do whatever it is I want. I can accomplish and achieve anything I set my heart on. Why did it take so long to “get it”? Why did I treat this project with love, patience and diligence but not anything else I’ve ever done? I’m always in such a hurry but what am I racing against?
Everyone claps when we’re done. We’re met with praise and love as all of us scatter to set up our stations, getting ready for the rest of class. It’s going to be hard to focus on the rest of the day. I’m exhausted.
I have all my models and everyone is wonderful, I’m just brain-dead. Charlie meets us at Rodan, a fabulous little bar down the street from the salon. We all talk, laugh, and drink. While I’m having a good time, I’m desperate to share the rest of my day with him, desperate to tell him about all these feelings that are ranging from Rob to all the wonderful things our educators said to us.
On the walk back, I try. I try to open up, get to that place where I feel safe to speak. Problem is, I’ve never found that place with him. I try. I do. I try a lot. I can feel he’s getting agitated as I’m talking. I eventually stop.
Maybe I need to be enough for me. I think to myself. Maybe I know somewhere in my head that I am but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to share my thoughts with my boyfriend. I need to talk, I need to not bottle things up. I don’t know why I need to talk. I don’t even know what it is I want to say but it’s something, it’s heavy, I’m tired of carrying it, and I want to know he’s ok with hearing it.
I fall asleep feeling lonely. There is a warm body next to me. I want to wrap my arm around his torso and press my face to his chest. Why can’t I just reach out to him? He’s right there…nope. Too scary. I close my eyes and fall asleep.

Teachback Prep...

2009-11-07T18:32:00.000-08:00

“So is there anything else you’re interested in doing besides behind the chair work? Are you interested in management or education at all?” Cyndi asks me after briefing me on what Art+Science is all about. It’s my first interview and I’m in Evanston sitting on a couch practically exploding because I have a feeling finally that this is it. This is what I want.
“I want to teach.” I beam.
“Really!” she lights up. “Well, at the end of your time in class, we have you do a teachback where you cut hair in front of the class, so that will be some good practice.”
Teachback? I think to myself. This sounds scary. I decide not to worry about it until that day arrived. Maybe by then I’ll know what I’m doing well enough to do a good job and it won’t be so intimidating…
Over the course of eleven months I’ve seen a few teachbacks. I’ve watched then intently, mentally taking notes on what I wanted to do differently, what else could I bring to the table to be thorough, and prepared, all while seeming perfectly comfortable standing in front of my co-workers and managers as if I did this sort of thing all the time.
I would daydream about who my models would be, what would I say, what cut would I do, and when this would happen. When I met Charlie I had already decided I wanted him there. Part of me was slightly insecure about this idea. I’m not sure I wanted him to see me speak in front of my co-workers. I didn’t know how nervous I would be, and if having him there would exacerbate that nervousness or calm me, because I knew him. He wouldn’t be some random person I pulled off the street.
My co-workers, Annie, Blair and Alyx were doing this with me. In class, I was a little behind them but ahead of a couple other girls. I felt my options were to ask to do mine right now, or wait. I asked, wanting this to be over with. Paul said yes and it was done.
The plan for the stylists is to find two models that we have pre-done to present, and one live that we cut in front of the class. The colorists need the same. Charlie agreed to be a pre-done, my friend Shannon agreed to come in from Atlanta to be my live model and a friend of a co-worker could be my other pre-done. I’m set, so why am I freaking out?
Personally, I want this to be perfect. I want to be so organized and put together that our audience is blown away. I want to appear polished, calm, and comfortable no matter what.
Then there’s the technical aspect of it. I’m not strong in men’s work right now and will need guidance with Charlie’s hair. I haven’t met my other pre-done, Jamie, but I know what I’d like to do on her, I just don’t know how to execute it, and Shannon? Her haircut works out in my head but how do I cut her in front of an audience? What if my idea doesn’t work? I take a mannequin head home to practice.
Days go by. The four of us meet up for coffee before class one Monday and toss around ideas. We agree on putting together booklets that explain each model, and add a little bio about ourselves. We want to put together a slide show to play while people are coming in that morning, and decide to bring in donuts and coffee. We also decide to meet at the Wicker Park salon the day before and get all of our pre-done models completed.
I ask Patrick, our Lincoln Park manager, to come in and help Annie and me with our models. Despite the Vikings game being on, and the fact that it’s his day off as well as the rest of us, he agrees.
Meanwhile, life is still happening. The four of us are still following our usual assistant schedules on top of prepping for this thing while maintaining something that could resemble a social life.
The day after Rob’s birthday I call Annie. I’m a hot mess. It’s freezing outside and I’m choosing to walk home from work, trying to feel better.
“Let it out mama. What is it?” she asks.
“Girl, I don’t know. I’m looping my feelings about Rob and him being gone into this teachback. The last time I spoke in front of people it was his funeral. When I think about who I was at that moment, standing up there talking, it makes me so happy. I want to be that girl again when this whole thing happens. I can’t explain it really. I don’t completely understand it.”
She quietly listens. For whatever reason my brain has chosen her to lay all my grief on. I don’t share much else with her but this. I don’t share much about Rob at all to anyone since moving. It’s created this island that I swim to sometimes when I get sad. I go out there and sit on this island alone. I walk around, look around, kick through the sand, scream, stare at the sun, and the stars. I wonder what if, then when I’ve had enough I go back to the world again. Only problem is, the world doesn’t know I’ve gone. It wants me to go to work, and pay the bills. It wants me to talk to it, clean it, go out in it, experience it. It doesn’t understand the grief any more than I do and now it wants me to give a presentation? What? Now?
The subject moves to what we’ve done to get ready before going in and doing our pre-done models.
“Have you done your headsheets yet?” she asks. The headsheets are diagrams of how we cut each model.
“Hell no. I tried the other day. I read over my notes and tried to come up with something but then I thought, if I wanted to change something then I’d have to change the headsheet.”
“I know! Ok. Let’s just do all of this on Sunday after everyone is finished.” she suggests.
“Deal.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“Will do. Same to you.” I smile.
We get off the phone and I walk the rest of the way home.
Sunday arrived with fluffy white clouds and sunshine. Charlie and I got up and went to Alliance bakery for coffee and breakfast. I went here every day shortly after moving to Chicago. I now can’t remember the last time I went.
The silence is deafening as Charlie surfs the internet and I eat a bagel waiting for his mini laptop to load the yahoo web page. I feel my heart begin to speed up and I desperately want to run a marathon right now. I could run straight to California and not feel a thing. I can’t sit still another minute. I glance at the time after finishing the bagel. I need to leave in a few minutes but can’t sit still another second.
“I have to go.” I whisper to Charlie.
“Ok. What time are you walking up to the salon?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Meet at Division and Milwaukee?” he asks.
“Yup.” I reach for my purse.
“Can you hang on for five minutes? I’ll walk with you.” he says and shuts down his computer.
I nod and minutes later we’re out the door headed for our apartments.
I quickly shower, get dressed and pull together all my work things. Charlie meets me at my place because I’m running a little late.
“Ready?” I exhale grabbing my bag when I think there is nothing left for me to do or bring along.
“Yup.” he stands from the couch and we’re off.
I haven’t told Charlie all my feelings that are cropping up about this whole thing. It crosses my mind to say something on our walk to the salon but I don’t. My conscious self is anxious about the unknown parts of this situation. It’s worried I‘ll cut Charlie‘s hair too short, that I’ll slip up and get my words jumbled while talking tomorrow about him, that Jamie won’t be into the idea I have for her hair and I’ll be back at square one, that I won’t be able to answer a question that could be thrown at me, the list goes on.
There’s this other side though that is extinguishing all those negative thoughts. It feels like it’s something bigger than me. It’s calming warmth is reminding me that I’ll find the words I need, I have the help I asked for, and I need to relax because Monday isn’t here yet but when it comes, I’ll know what to say and do. For now, it reminds me, I have to do today.
“I owe you my life for doing this for me.” I grin at Charlie. We’re halfway into his haircut. The dermatitis on my left hand is screaming and my brain feels a little scrambled but other than that, everything is good.
He’s quiet as I steal Annie’s clippers and get Patrick.
“This clipper action isn’t a strong point for me.” I tell him.
“It’s ok. Just make sure you….” he goes on to explain how I should hold the device. “Just go in like this.’ he demonstrates on the right side of Charlie’s head. “Here.” he hands the clippers to me.
I gingerly take them, turn them on and press them to Charlie’s skin. I try to mimic what he did but pulled away too fast causing a line to appear just below Charlie’s occipital bone. I move to the next section and end up doing the same thing.
“Patrick!” I exclaim, feeling my skin heat up.
“What’s up?” he walks over.
“Look at this. This is what continues to happen.” I point to the trouble.
“That’s nothing. We’re not even worried about that yet. I need you to only pay attention to this part.” he takes the clippers from me and shows me again what I’m to do. I do it and this time I cut it too short.
“I hate this.” I growl to Charlie.
“You’re doing fine.” he says.
“I continue to have the same problem. I hear what I’m being told, I’m just unable to make my hands do what I need them to.”
“You are fine.” he says again.
I shake my head, still feeling my skin radiate heat.
“Patrick?” I call over to him.
He walks over and stands next to me, both of us surveying Charlie’s head.
“What’s this?” I point to right behind Charlie’s left ear.
“Ok, that’s a little shorter but it’s not big deal. Use your shears to even it out and detail this section.” he tells me pointing to the middle of Charlie’s head.
Shannon arrived and so did Jamie as I was working on the top of Charlie’s head. It took me two hours to finish him. It took another hour and a half to finish Jamie. I carefully listened to Patrick’s instructions and carefully followed them as I worked quietly on Jamie’s pretty, curly hair. Once I was done and satisfied, I brought Shannon over to discuss with Patrick how I was going to do this. In the end, I’m still not entirely clear on it but the feeling that everything will be fine has enveloped me and I’m ok with it.
Shannon leaves and I go into the office with Blair, Annie, Alyx to continue discussing and outlining how we’re going to execute this, who is going to say what and when, and what we need to wear, bring and set up. This takes an hour.
When I’m finally done, packed up and walking out the door my head is spinning. I’m trying to calm down as I make my way downtown to meet Shannon for dinner. It feels good to sit down and breathe for a moment.
After saying goodbye at her hotel, I take a walk in search of the train. I’m only vaguely familiar with the area and eventually find the red line and go to Charlie’s. My stress about this situation has manifested itself in the spreading my dermatitis from my hands to my arms and the feeling I need to snap at everything he says.
“Stop it.” I tell myself. “He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault you can’t speak. It’s not his fault you’re stressed…”
He wants to watch a movie but it’s already 10:30. I want to be up early to go for a run in the morning. It isn’t long before we’ve climbed into bed, the idea of a movie set aside for now and quietly gone to sleep.

Eighteen Months....

2009-10-27T08:30:00.000-07:00

I open my eyes, still half asleep to see the light on in Charlie’s bathroom. My eyes squint to read the clock. It’s 3:50am. He’s leaving soon for the airport. In my sleepy state I can barely hear him moving around. My mind begins to entertain thoughts of being in the same state on Monday mornings when Rob would be getting ready to leave for South Carolina in the middle of the night. I hated waking up without him next to me, almost feeling like his being there was a dream in the first place.
I exhale, and drift off on a wave of sadness before my eyes close again and I fall back into sleep.
It’s 7:00am when my eyes are suddenly wide open, my heart is racing, and my mind is full of anxiety. I jump out of bed and get dressed. I’m moving as if I’m trying to run away from the uncomfortable feelings of being here without Rob, without Charlie, scrambling to find something to fill the void.
“Dishes.” I think to myself. I said I’d do the dishes before locking up his place and getting on with the day.
I try to move slowly, try to calm down but I can’t seem to get out from under the pressure I feel I’m pinned beneath. As I leave, I can’t decide whether or not I’m going to write in my journal or run. Once I’m outside, I decide coffee will cheer me up faster and if there’s time, then I’ll run.
I try to write. I suck down my Americano without tasting it. I’m fighting tears, fighting sadness, trying not to drown in it out of fear I won’t climb back out. Tomorrow will be eighteen months since Rob died. His birthday is Friday. What do I do with all of this?
Once the coffee is gone, I pick up some ice cream at a local grocery store. I’m already feeling the regret as I hand over the cash to pay for it. I haven’t done this in a while. I can’t believe I just forked over my hard earned money to hurt myself. What sense does that make? This ice cream…. Won’t bring Rob back, won’t ease the work stress, won’t make anything go away.
On my walk home I tell myself that I can throw it away. I don’t have to keep it, I don’t have to give in, but once I’m in the safe comfort of my apartment, I open it and sink into it’s cold, delicious flavored texture. It’s like scratching an itch. There’s relief at first then the itch wants more. Needs more pressure to relieve it. I keep scratching, feeling my brain spark with delight, wanting more and more. The scratching continues until what started out as relieving a simple little itch, has now turned into tearing into a gaping hole. It hurts, it’s screams and now, I’m stuck with it, waiting for it to heal.
I come out of my food induced high with the same sadness I woke up with plus anger as explosive as a bomb.
“Dammit.” I toss the container into the trash and go into my room to pull on my running clothes.
“What the hell was that?” I ask myself as the wind tears at my face while my feet pound the pavement. “What did that accomplish?”
I have no answers. I finish my run, and get dressed for work. My anger is still there and I’m hiding behind it to keep the sadness away. I feel an insatiable need to take care of myself, to stop giving in when food wants attention, I just don’t know how to climb out again. I think I’m just going to have sit down here and let all this wash over me. I’ll try it again. I’ll try to let the sadness come through, feel it, address it, and take one more step forward. I didn’t get to this point over night. Eighteen months didn’t happen in twenty four hours…

Promotion...

2009-10-19T18:17:00.001-07:00

Lately, I’ve felt everything has been on fast forward. I looked up from the tedious day-in and day-out details of my life to see that six months has gone by since I’ve so much as glanced at my little space out here in the middle of the internet. I must say I haven’t been really inspired to write but today I felt the mood strike and decided to, in a familiar, almost reluctant way, sit still and do one of the things I love most. Why I withhold writing from myself with my long list of excuses and distractions, I’ll never know…
I’m happy to say that I still live in the precious apartment I first moved into when I moved to Chicago. I’ve collected a small group of wonderful friends and am happy in my relationship with Charlie. We’ve just celebrated eight fabulous months. While we agree neither of us have a clue as to what to do with each other provided this relationship thing is new to both of us, I’ve managed to slip from my quiet little existence by myself and fall ridiculously in love with someone who has managed to (unbeknownst to him) compliment and enhance my life in ways I never thought possible or could imagine. It isn’t the brand new, timid, fumbling spring chicken kind of love I had in high school, or the rabid, insatiable, profoundly intense love I shared with Rob but a secure, mature love running deeper than I ever thought possible. It makes me happier is ways I never expected.
It’s been nearly a year since I started work at Art+Science salon. I’m starting to finish up with class, which means moving up from assisting to being a stylist, which means time is closing in around the decision that will be made as to which salon I’ll be placed at. Currently, as an assistant, I bounce from location to location. There are three salons, one in Wicker Park (where I live) one in Lincoln Park and one outside the city in Evanston.
Wicker Park is my first choice along with everyone else. It’s closest to my house and all around fabulous. Since my first day though, I’ve had a feeling I’d be placed in Evanston, much to my dismay. The salon reminds me of Van Michael. It’s huge, loud, busy and far from where I live. I don’t want to repeat that time in my life. In Atlanta, Buckhead raped my soul, made me an angry, compulsive eating, personality disordered wreck and I refuse to go back to being that person. Ultimately, I have little control over where I’m going to be placed. This has made me nervous as I’m reaching for muffins and sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear where I’ll make my new professional home. The only thing I can do is voice my opinion and wait.
So I do. I meet with several managers and explain my concerns. I feel as if they’re listening and understanding which is all I really want but I still have a nagging feeling that Wicker Park isn’t in the cards for me and I’m going to have to be ok with that. Even as I prayed, and talked to Rob about it I feel like I’m being told something…something I don’t want to hear but would ultimately be a blessing in disguise.
I had just put my things down and clocked in at Lincoln Park when I saw I had missed a call from our education director, Paul. His voicemail was short, asking me to call him back. I dial the number and wait.
“Hello?” He picked up quickly.
“Hey Paul! It’s Melissa. How are you?” I smile and rake my fingers through my hair.
“I’m good! How are you?”
“Good.” I’m still smiling out of fear of what will happen if I stop. This is really about to happen. Eleven months after working here, I’m about to find out where I’m going to be placed. Right? There’s no other reason for him to call…
“So I’m calling to tell you that we’ve come to a decision about where you’ll be placed.” he begins.
“Yeah?” I inhale and suddenly my brain is reeling backward to a time where I was standing on a train platform after my first interview, Rob’s voice in my ear congratulating me on setting up my second interview with Art+Science. That image is replaced with him telling me over the phone again the night before that interview, to be myself, have fun and they’ll hire me on the spot. After being questioned by eleven people I was hired right then. I’ll never be able to describe what it felt like that day in front of them. I don’t recognize that girl when I look back. She was on the edge of her seat, animated, laughing, honest, unafraid of what questions she may have to answer. She felt they would accept her if she let her guard down. So she stepped out of her comfy little box and let them see her…
I felt so much love I could barely comprehend it. I have no idea where it came from. These people didn’t know me, Rob was still in South Carolina but it was like he was sitting there with me through all of it.
Fast forward through eleven months of climbing back in the box, bouncing from salon to salon, racing from client to client, rinsing color, blowdrying, sweeping hair, feeding parking meters, hauling out the trash, long days, short days, scrambling to find models, rain, snow, sunshine, watching my hands and sanity disintegrate, pushing through it when I wanted to sink until I drowned, sometimes crawling through the day just to reach the end. I have finally reached a light at the end of a long tunnel.
Paul’s sentences become fragments as I struggle to comprehend his words while replaying the past.
“We really wanted you… no room… you would do well anywhere…”
I’m nodding until I hear it.
“Evanston.” he says and I exhale.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I hear him smile. “You’re going to do great.”
We hang up shortly after and I look around the break room trying to identify my feelings. I don’t know yet. I feel my heart begin to race. My head is swimming. It’s plotting out the upcoming work I’ll have to put in to bringing in new clients, asking myself how am I going to set myself apart? How am I going to be creative in bringing in these new people? I think about my commute, how I’ll handle days where it’s minus whatever outside, or ninety, I imagine my clientele and what they’ll be like, what I’ll learn from them, and what I’ll give back to them.
All these thoughts happen in thirty seconds before I pick up the phone and call Charlie. I can’t sit still with it right now.
“Hi!” I exclaim when he picks up. “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh really?”
“I just (inhale, exhale) got a call from Paul. I’ve been placed in Evanston.”
“How do you feel about it?” he asks.
“I’m ok. I’m not surprised or anything.”
“You’re gonna be making actual money!” I hear him smile.
“You’re right!” I laugh.
“Are you going to move up there? he asks.
“Hell no! Are you kidding? I have everything I want where I live. There’s no way I’m moving.”
We’re quiet for a second before I continue. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s actually here.”
“You’re gonna do just fine up there.” he reminds me.
We get off the phone shortly after and I go to fold towels. My head is still swimming wondering how life would be if Rob were still here, what he would say to my news. He sees a bigger picture now. I think it’s why I’m not freaking out. I know he’s here with me and wouldn’t steer me in a wrong direction. I can almost feel him, can almost touch him if only I knew which direction to reach out in…

Twelve months...

2009-04-25T18:02:00.001-07:00

It’s raining outside when I wake up. I somehow managed to sleep until 9am. I get out of bed not wanting to acknowledge that it’s April 20th and Rob has been gone a full year. At about this time last year, the sun was up and he was leaving my place for work. The last thing I said to him was “I love you”, and he was gone.
Hours later I was on the phone with my dad saying “Daddy, I’m never going to see him again, never going to touch him again, never going to hear him again…” over and over. I wanted him to fix it, change it, tell me it was a mistake but instead he said nothing.
This morning, I eat breakfast and go to the coffee shop I frequented when I first moved here. I set up my computer in a small room in the back and write. I don’t cry, acknowledge anyone, or look up really from what I’m doing. I drinking a soy latte in Rob’s memory, remembering the day we met. I was standing behind him in line at Starbucks, not realizing he was who he was and I watched him order a soy latte thinking that was interesting. After trying his one day a few weeks after meeting him that day, I was hooked.
A couple hours later when I couldn’t sit still anymore, I leave the coffee shop and walk through the drizzly rain home. Tears find me on the street, but I don’t let them fall. I don’t know what this is. Right after Rob died all I wanted to do was talk and not crying wasn’t an option. It wasn’t like me to do all of that so openly but it felt so good that eventually I started this whole blog action.
At home I pull out my journal from last spring and read about the events of April 20th. I was angry at Rob but didn’t know why. I wanted his attention but he was so focused on getting to Robby’s that I remained angry, feeling like an afterthought. Yes, I had to work as well but I wanted him to stop for a minute and quit worrying. The whole time I was with Rob I had this feeling that I should tell him absolutely everything always. I felt that there wasn’t enough time ever, that I was trying to squeeze everything in. I’m assuming he didn’t feel this way. I thought my feelings were stemming from my impending move to Chicago. I never imagined what actually happened.
The morning he left my house I cried and cried but not understanding why. I eventually got dressed and went to work, still feeling a bit “off”. That feeling was replaced with the most profound hurt I’ve ever experienced when my dad called that afternoon.
I shut the journal, unable to read the conversation I had with Daddy and put on my gym clothes. I leave and walk to the train, my eyes avoiding contact with anyone on the street. Rage is bubbling under my skin. I don’t know where to pin point it or what to do with it but it isn’t going away. I don’t know how to comprehend Rob’s year long absence. He was just here. I was just waiting for him on a Friday night, he was just making me laugh, I was just telling him a story, we were just accumulating atrocious phone bills, he was just saying “I love you.” No matter where I go, who I talk to, what I see…no matter how many words I type, he’s not coming back and it’s enough to make me insane so to ward off the straightjacket, I’ll just be mad until I can think of a better idea.
I push dumbbells over my head. Again, tears want to make an appearance and again I blink them back. I’m suddenly afraid of being vulnerable. I want nothing to do with anyone. I’m terrified of appearing unstable. I’ve been so focused lately on being the “perfect” employee, the “perfect” girlfriend, the “perfect” friend that I seem to have lost sight of that fact that I’m a human with many more emotions other than “happy” and right now, I’m not willing to accept it. Somewhere in my mind, I seem to believe that acceptance means this really did happen, Rob really is gone, and this…right now, is my life as I now know it and that is too much to take in. I sometimes feel I’m re-living someone else’s life when I go back and think of Rob and experience the memories I have of him. It is such a rude awakening when I’m forced to see that this is all real, and it all happened.
When I’m finished at the gym I go home to drop my bag off and head out again for a run. It feels like any other day, running up Milwaukee Ave., looking at the shops, dodging people, and singing along with my iPOD in my head. I’m simply refusing to think about anything else.
At home again thoughts of Rob start creeping back into my head. I wonder how he would want me to spend today. Am I doing ok so far? If everything were reversed, how would I want him to spend his day if I were gone? I think to myself that I would want him to do whatever he wanted that made him happy. I took a shower and went to the coffee shop I met Charlie in.
I tried to write some more but it’s too hard. I keep staring out the window. Mom has called twice. It’s not that I don’t want to talk, I’m unable (or maybe I’m unwilling) to do so. I find that I’ve wanted to push away the people I’m closest to while reaching out to the people I’m sorta-kinda close with and tell them everything. Whatever “everything” may mean…
Instead I reach out to no one, still afraid I am unable to handle what might come out of me, and unable to handle another person’s response. I try to write some more but eventually give up and go home, but not before stopping for a pint of ice cream which I promptly consume to it’s entirety while continuing to write on my laptop. I know this won’t solve any problems, it just will numb me for a moment so I can not be here.
I decide to take a break from writing and email a friend of mine who had a similar experience several years ago. She’s now happily married and we’ve talked a little bit about our grief and how we each have handled it shortly after Rob died. (she lives in Atlanta) I wanted to know about her current relationship with her husband and how they both handled her experience, plus I wanted to know what she felt after her first love had been gone a year.
She writes me back quickly saying she doesn’t really remember the first year and time really does make things better although the sadness never goes away. She goes on to tell me about her husband and how he’s so different from the boyfriend she lost that it’s impossible to make comparisons. She also says that she doesn’t talk a lot about it because he’s never had anything like this happen to him before and it’s hard for him to hear about or see her hurt.
I feel this way about Charlie. He’s so completely different but still just as wonderful as Rob. Sometimes though, at the most random times I feel like I need to talk though. Half the time I don’t know how or what to say really, it’s just this urge to get something out.
I shut the computer down, unable to do anything or think about anything else. When I walk into my room, I change into my pajamas unable to look at the pictures of Rob’s smiling face on my bookshelf and fall into bed hoping sleep comes fast.

Skinned...

2009-04-20T18:30:00.001-07:00

The end of my work day is coming and it’s all the sudden gotten crazy. I’m in Evanston today and trying to get home before Kat and Charlie arrive. He’s been in D.C. all week and she’s coming for the weekend. I’m ecstatic to see them both but also feeling rather emotional. I’m in a constant state of angry so as to avoid feeling anything else. April 20th, the year anniversary of Rob’s death is coming up and I’m a mess and don’t want to admit it. I’m trying to keep the happy face on but I’m feeling I’m on the edge of losing it.
At the current moment, I have two clients going at the same time plus I’m trying to collect all the trash and take it out before the hour and a half trek home on the train. On top of that, Charlie texted me saying he’s trying to fly stand-by home and the flight he wants to get on is oversold plus the flight he’s scheduled to leave on is delayed. Awesome.
I’m trying to get the color rinsed off of one client while another one is sitting with a toner on her highlights. Both clients need to feed their meters and aren’t too happy with the juggling situation I’ve got going on, but there is no one else to help. It’s time to rinse the toner as I’m finishing the one client, explaining I’ll be back to shampoo her.
“Can’t anyone else do it?” she huffs.
“If someone could, they would.” I nod. “I’ll check one more time.” I race over to the other shampoo bowls to find another assistant while the toner client pipes up at me saying “Um, excuse me, it’s time to rinse! I have to feed my meter!”
“I’m coming!” I try not to snap as I find Vanessa and ask her to shampoo the client I just rinsed.
“In a minute.” she tells me because she too is shampooing someone.
“Thanks.” I exhale and get the toner off this woman’s head while she talks to me like I’m in kindergarten, explaining what products I’ll be finding for her when it’s time to style her hair.
I quickly get her set up at the blow-dry station, because she wants to do it herself. I find all her products, get her a comb, a diffuser, and a fresh towel and I’m on my way to take the trash out, hands shaking from rage.
In the break room, I gather the last of the large trash bags and exclaim to Lauren, a stylist that I’m going to scream.
“Let it out girl. What happened?”
I explain the clients and the meters and being spoken to as if I’m ignorant. I’m talking so fast I barely take in any air.
“Just give me a minute will you!” I exclaim. “I promise I’m doing the best I can! What is wrong with people?!”
“I know girl, I know.” she nods.
“Melissa?” LaRae’s elegant voice is behind me. She’s a receptionist and when I turn to face her, I see she’s carrying a dozen beautiful red roses. “These are for you.” she hands them to me.
“Really?!” my entire being lights up.
“Yup!”
“Who are they from?” I ask, noticing there is no card.
“A lil birdie.” she smiles.
“What does this birdie look like?” I grin.
“Not telling you!” she turns and walks out of the break room.
“LaRae!” I trail after her. “Tell me!”
“Nope!” she smiled and made her way back up front.
I lightened up after that, assuming the flowers were from Charlie but how did they get here when he wasn’t in the city yet?
I haul the garbage outside and seriously contemplate screaming, I’m still so overwhelmed. I cry instead. Tears burn my cheeks as I toss the trash into the huge dumpster, walk back inside and clock out.
I check my phone and got a text from Charlie earlier saying he was on the train back to the city. I texted him back saying I was leaving. Five minutes later I was out the door and trucking it to the train. I heard someone running behind me and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Hands landed on my shoulders, a kiss landed on my neck and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to see Charlie smiling me at me.
“Hi!!!” I squealed hugging and kissing him. “Really?!”
He nodded. “I can’t believe I just pulled that off. I made that stand-by flight and had enough time to get you flowers and pick you up.”
I am speechless. We walk to his car and my hand immediately finds the back of his head once he‘s started driving. “Thank you so much. It’s been a hellacious day and you completely turned it around.”
He turned and smiled at me.
We’re quiet for a while before he says (after I rehashed this afternoon) “I know this is a tough weekend for you. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
The fact that he remembered and is opening himself up to receive my insanity instantly touches me and I try not to cry.
“Thank you. I do want to talk about it, I just don’t know what to say. Nothing makes it better so I think what’s the point? There’s nothing anyone can do, nothing I can do, but just sit there and deal with it.”
After Rob died I talked incessantly. Now, nearly a year later, I feel like a scared animal who has been skinned and tossed aside, left to her own devices and too scared to say a word to anyone.
Scared of what I don’t know. Scared of losing control? Scared of seeming unstable? Of crying? I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix it or alleviate any of it.
At Charlie’s we get settled for a minute knowing we’ll be back out again to meet Kat. She’s on the train coming in from Midway. I’m laying across Charlie’s bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. He’s next to me on his side. I feel his eyes on me but I don’t turn to look at him. I start talking about the day before Rob died, going over the tiniest details, like how I was supposed to pick up salad dressing for dinner and instead went to visit Kat at the pub because I knew he’d be late. I told him about Rob being stressed when he got to my place because he had left Robby with a mess. He didn’t tell Robby that he was meeting me. I told him how he would be sarcastic with me when he was stressed out and how I told him it hurt my feelings. I told him Rob and I talked about how we wanted our wedding to be while eating the dinner he cooked and how his snoring kept me up that night so I slept on the couch and cried myself to sleep because I was angry at him for reasons I couldn’t figure out and couldn’t shake, not even the next morning.
“I don’t know what it was.” I sighed. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
My phone began ringing. It’s Kat and she’s close. When I hang up Charlie is off the bed. “To be continued!” he tells me. I don’t say anything. I don’t know when I’ll be able to continue it. Talking about this is weird. Once I get the guts to say something, I have to finish it, otherwise, it’ll be a while before I’m able to say anything else.
Once we get Kat settled at my place, Charlie takes the two of us to dinner. I’m so happy to have her here. We’re all deliriously tired after dinner. Charlie is leaving for Milwaukee the in morning, and I’m going to work. Kat decides I should stay with him tonight, and she’ll stay at my place. I don’t put up much of an argument.
The next morning I’m up early and getting dressed while Charlie is still passed out. I woke up extra early to be able to spend a teeny bit more time with him but I can see that plan has backfired as he hasn’t moved in the past forty five minutes. I decide to leave and go for a walk before I have to get on the train to Evanston again.
“You leavin’?” he asks, his eyes still closed as I’m standing in front of the bed.
“Yes.” I don‘t move. His eyes open and he tells me I look nice.
“Thanks.” I reply, still not moving. I somehow decide to take this moment to tell him a story about the gym. I’m halfway into it before he stops me and says “Wait, what time do you have to work?”
“I have to leave here at eight fifteen!”
“Ok. I just don’t want you to be late.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know how I am about time.”
“Keep talkin’.” he says and gets out of bed. I quickly finish my story and launch into how I feel about not wanting to work today.
“I just need a lil bit of time off. I can’t seem to get my head straight.”
He offers some suggestions to which I ask “Are you trying to fix my problem?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Cause you know, it’s not really about work. I’m just choosing to take it out on work.”
“I know.” he pushes his feet into his shoes. “Come on. I’m taking you to Lovely.” (the coffee shop we met in.)
“They don’t open until nine.”
“What?” he looked deflated. “I can make you some coffee and oatmeal here then. That be ok?”
“Yes.” I smile and nod. He walks over to me and hugs me.
“I just want to take care of you.” he says.
“Ok.” I kiss him, feeling myself softening up. Maybe it won’t be such an icky day after all.

Easter...

2009-04-20T16:58:00.001-07:00

My alarm goes off at three in the morning. I roll out of bed, get dressed, pack the last of my things and head out for the train. I’m barely able to think as I sit at the platform hoping to get on this flight to Atlanta. I didn’t hear from dad so I assume everything is fine.
At Ohare I stand against the wall at the gate watching my name on the stand-by list get pushed further and further down on the overhead computer screen. Kids are everywhere, crawling around and screaming. I just want to sit on this plane and sleep just a few more hours…
When Charlie and I discussed coming to Atlanta, he decided to purchase a ticket on United. He would be flying to Washington D.C. on Monday and I would be going back to Chicago. His flight is leaving an hour after mine this morning. I have a good feeling he’s going to be camped out at Hartsfield while I race from gate to gate at Ohare, trying to figure out a way to Atlanta.
My eyes scan the surrounding area and land on a delicious, blue eyed man heading in my direction. My heart warms and I smile, walking towards him.
“Hi.” I exhale, wrapping my arms around him.
“Hey.” Charlie smiles and kisses me.
“It’s not looking good.” I nodded toward the computer screen.
He nods. “I’ve got plenty of T.V. shows to entertain me on my computer if you get stuck, but you’re getting on so don’t worry.”
We stand there in sleepy silence, watching swarms of people board the plane. I’m searching my brain, trying to come up with plan B.
The plane took off without clearing any stand-bys. We were rolled over to the next flight that was now delayed forty five minutes.
“Ok, if I don’t get home today and have to fly tomorrow, do you want to stay with Kat or my parents?” I ask Charlie.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.” he replies. “I have to go. It’s all going to be fine. You’ll make it today.” he kisses me and heads for his terminal. I walk to the gate where the next flight to Atlanta will be leaving, sit, and stare at the wall. Ah, the adventures of stand-by travel begins.
Eventually, I was back on the train heading for Midway airport. Ohare would be a mess all day. Once there, I waited three hours and was the last person on the plane, landing in Atlanta five hours later than expected, but at least I made it.
Charlie and I spent the afternoon with my parents and the evening with Kat and Gordon. We stayed with them and after a fabulous evening of taking Charlie to some of our favorite places we were asleep at two in the morning.
Like clockwork, my eyes were open at seven. I carefully got out of bed and into my running clothes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this right now…” I think to myself. I don’t remember the last time I had eight hours of sleep and I’m now going to destroy my legs on N. Highland and can’t wait!
I walk outside, turn on my iPOD and take off. The temperature is perfectly chilly but not uncomfortable. The sun is starting to come up and the air smells like breakfast. I listen to slower music but run fast, feeling happy, relaxed and not entirely alone even though the street is empty. There are no cars or people on the street. I remember sometimes feeling this way right after Rob died and I wonder if he’s with me right now.
I used to bug him about running with me on Sunday mornings. I wanted his company. He was having none of that and sometimes I got up and went anyways, bringing him coffee or breakfast on my way home.
Instead of running straight through Freedom Park, I head for Candler Park. I smile to myself remembering how much I loved the streets here and always enjoyed my drive to work. It feels like I never left.
On my way back to Kat and Gordon’s, I stop by San Francisco Coffee to get coffee for Charlie and me. I walk passed the tables that Rob and I sat in by the window and remember one Sunday morning we were here before I had to work and he had me laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I head back with the coffee and carefully walk into the room where Charlie is still asleep. His hand is curled under his chin and he looks so sweet that I don’t move to wake him, just place the coffee on the vanity next to him and tiptoe out.
In the kitchen I stare out the window and suck down my coffee so fast I don’t remember even drinking it. So many times I’d be at this window waiting for Rob to come, so many nights were spent here, opening wine bottles, laughing, eating breakfast or dinner. Everything still looks the same but is completely different.
I can’t move. I think about walking outside to sit on the steps and write, or just sit. I’d like to cry but can’t. I think about a shower but can’t seem to do that either. I just stand there and stare out the window and try to be content with that.
I turn around after hearing something and see Charlie standing in the living room looking half asleep.
“Hi.” I smile, walking towards him to kiss him.
“Hey.” he sits in a reclining chair. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” I nod.
“What time did we need to be up?”
“Nine thirty. At least I need to be in the shower then.” I sit on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.
“What? I thought it was eight thirty.”
“Nope.” I smile realizing it’s a little after eight thirty now. “Want some orange juice?”
“Sure.”
“Kay, I’ll be back.” I hop up and run out the door and up to Belly where they make the most delicious bagels and have fresh squeezed orange and grapefruit juice. Rob and I both lost our minds over the place. Even though he’s not here, it makes me feel good to still want to do these things for someone else I care so much about.
They were out of orange so I got grapefruit instead. Charlie was on his computer doing some work when I got back. I took a shower and got dressed. Gordon made breakfast for all of us. It was so nice to be with them. I talked to Kat while Charlie got dressed and we were off to church.
I can’t find words to describe how this feels. I was just doing this with Rob last year. I had gone back and forth in my head over asking Charlie to come with me for Easter because I didn’t know how I’d feel. Now I’m so glad he’s hear I can hardly stand it. I don’t want to be without him. Those feelings are confusing as well because I felt that way with Rob too, never wanting to be without him, always so happy to have him right next to me.
In church I’m giggly out of nervousness. Everything seems funny and I wonder if somewhere in my head I’m laughing to keep from either crying or screaming.
After the service we go to my grandmothers for lunch. Charlie is seated to my right, like Rob was and it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world. Everyone tells me later how much they like him.
Charlie is exhausted and I’m still wired from coffee this morning as we drive back to Atlanta. We go back to Kat and Gordon’s to get our things then I drive him around Inman Park to look at the old houses that have lined the streets there for many many years. I take him to the Brickstore in Decatur. I haven’t been since Rob died and it was fabulously calm inside compared to it’s usual insanity. We have a beer, then the electricity goes out. I can feel something bubbling under my skin during all this. I want to talk to Charlie. About what I don’t know, but I feel, sitting at the bar, there is no privacy and constant interruptions.
We decide to leave and go find dinner. I can’t seem to think as I’m driving us around. We end up at Zuma, where we went the night before for sushi. On Easter last year, Rob and I went here and I remember being tipsy telling him I was falling in love with him. How is it that all this is happening again with yet another amazing person? How did we end up at this place on Easter Sunday again? What do I do with all this?
Sushi is delicious and I calm down a little. We drive to mom and dad’s and stay up way too late again. Mom wakes us up at six something and drives us to the airport. Charlie’s flight is leaving before mine and I sit with him at the gate until he has to go.
“I’ll miss you.” he tells me after wrapping me up in a hug.
“I’ll miss you too.” I smile and kiss him then head to my gate. Once again, it doesn’t look like I’ll be going back to Chicago anytime soon. The flight is delayed and full. Great. I don’t have enough energy to be mad though. I call dad.
“What do I do? Do I stay here another day or try to get on this flight?”
“I don’t know. Wait and see what this flight is going to do.” he tells me.
I sigh and stare at the wall. “Ok, I’ll call you if something ridiculous happens.”
“Ok.” I hear him smile.
Minutes later, I’m cleared and we’re boarding. I’m ecstatic but again, have no energy. The weather is bad in Atlanta causing people to be delayed and miss their connections which opened up my flight.
Back in Chicago I take the train home. It’s cold and raining here. I want nothing more than to be wrapped up in Charlie’s arms and be asleep. I fall into my own bed and close my eyes…

Relationship...

2009-04-15T03:41:00.000-07:00

The sun is out and the air is rather chilly on my walk home with Charlie. It’s almost 10:00 am. My co-worker Alyx is picking me up and we’re headed downtown for a hairshow. My arm is looped through his and neither of us are saying anything until I pipe up, trying not to hyperventilate. “I noticed you called me your girlfriend yesterday when you were entering your time in for work.” (he was using me as an example of his daily occurrences “Walk my girlfriend to work.” Then insert correction… “Walk Melissa to get coffee” …and so on.)
“Yes, you’re a girl and you’re my friend. I corrected myself and called you “Melissa” afterwards.” he replied.
“I noticed that as well.”
“Scott calls you my girlfriend too.”
(Scott is Charlie’s best friend.)
“Really. And do you correct him?” I ask.
“I do.” he said after a slight hesitation. “Hey, are you trying to have the talk with me?”
“I dunno, am I?”
Neither of us say anything else. My heart is going to explode. Did I just screw this up? I imagine this is how Rob felt when he was trying the same thing with me and I changed the subject.
Alyx picks me up a few minutes later as we were standing at my front door. I quickly kiss him goodbye and he tells me he’ll see me later. On our way downtown I tell her about the conversation we just had.
“I’m all freaked out now.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t be. I doubt he’s thinking about it.” she smiles at me.
Once at the show we lose our minds. We both bought supplies and watched the American Crew stage show twice. (Several of our co-workers and former co-workers put the show together.) There was so much to see and so much…interesting hair, it was overwhelming. Several hours later we were back at my apartment. Alyx dropped me off and I went for a run.
That evening, Charlie fixed us dinner. I told him if I freaked him out this morning, I was sorry.
“You didn’t. It’s not a big deal really.”
“Kay.” I smile.
A few days later he offers to take me to work. We’re at my apartment, him on the phone with a client, me racing around trying to get my work things together when I hear him say, “I need to call you after ten, I’m taking my girlfriend to work.”
I don’t look at him, just keep moving almost pretending like I didn’t hear him. He hangs up and looks at me. “Yeah, I said “girlfriend”.”
I smile and say “I’m happy to be your girlfriend.”
After Rob died people were constantly telling me that I’d find someone else, that everything would be ok. I knew this but wanted time to grieve the loss that just sucked the air out of me. I wanted to get used to the idea that the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life again was gone forever. There aren’t many things that are permanent like this. I remember telling Rob’s mom that the next person I managed to get into a relationship with had some really tall shoes to fill, whoever he was. I felt badly for this unknown person because I didn’t know how it was going to be for him following something like this. Half the time I don’t know what to do with it. How can I expect someone else to?
Charlie though, has handled the whole thing perfectly. He lets me talk and if he’s afraid of my tears, he doesn’t show it. I feel so safe and taken care of when I’m with him.
I asked him a little later if he’d come to Atlanta with me for Easter. He quickly agreed. I dragged my feet on telling my family though. I didn’t want anyone to think for a minute that this new relationship would mean that Rob was gone from my mind or that the grieving process was magically over. I also feared being watched super closely as if people would try and dissect my actions with Charlie and compare them to how I acted with Rob. I am judgmental of that myself. I love playing with Charlie’s hair, I constantly want to tell him how amazing he is, how much I adore him. I want to write him because it’s somehow easier for me to say certain things that way and helps me make sense of stuff I have trouble talking about. I find myself doing these things but being hesitant about it or avoiding it all together because it’s what I did with Rob. I’ve noticed myself sometimes being very quiet with Charlie because I’m afraid once I start talking, I’ll explode and cry and won’t be able to stop. Saying nothing only results in me eventually wanting to pick at him because he’s not reading my mind, and that isn’t acceptable either.
I don’t know where to go from here, what to do, or say half the time. What I do know is that overall, I’m very happy and trying to take all of this, once again, one day at time.

Lovin'...

2009-04-14T06:32:00.001-07:00

I woke up on Monday trying to mentally prepare for a twelve hour day in class. Charlie and I shared coffee and breakfast, then I was off. Everything that was happening today was going to be fun and interesting, it was just going to be long.
I don’t know if it was the caffeine or what but I was losing my mind in the middle of everything. Mel was showing me how to do a particular haircut and I was concentrating so hard I thought I might explode. I’m trying to absorb her every word, to do this as perfectly as possible while paying attention to not making the mistakes she tells me are common. When she’s done explaining, I’m on my own and am happy with what I did, but it still needs work.
Switching gears a couple of hours later, my male model cancels for men’s class and I go out to find another. When that doesn’t happen, I watch a demo on the haircut I’m working on, ask questions and try to again, absorb everything. I feel I’m going at a hundred miles an hour with no sign of slowing down. It’s like I’m afraid to because I’m running from something at the moment and work is giving me something else to focus on.
After men’s class we’re all heading to our Lincoln Park salon for a hairshow that some graduating assistants are putting on. I walk with my co-worker Alyx down North Ave in search of the bus. She asks how everything is going and I tell her how class is going well, I’m happy with Charlie but grief is sneaking up on me again and I don’t know how to talk about it or what to do with it.
“I keep having these random memories pop up outta no where.” I tell her. “They’re happening at the most inappropriate times and I don’t know what to do with them or where they’re coming from.”
“What sort of memories?” she asks.
“Hmm… like an image of Rob and me at dinner will pop up, or I’ll remember something he said, or an expression on his face I liked will come up. Sometimes images of his funeral will appear, I never know what it’ll be. It’s all these tiny little things. I don’t know what sparks them.”
“I think that’s normal I also think it’s because you still need him in some way or another.” she says without looking at me.
I nod, trying to wrap my mind around it. Of course I do. He left me here but in a way, I believe he’s still around. He’s the one that makes me get up in the morning when I don’t want to. He’s the one that moves my pen across the paper, that fuels my legs to make them run. He puts the smile on my face when I’d rather cry. He pushes me to take better care of myself, to say what’s in my head, to be decisive, and his former presence here and elsewhere has opened my heart to receive the love of another person.
Alyx and I are quiet after that and minutes later the bus is behind us. We get to Lincoln Park early and sit in the break room laughing with our other co-workers so hard my stomach hurt. I’m reminded again of how happy I am to be here not only at Art+Science but in Chicago as well.
The show the girls put on was fabulous and had me wondering how much time went into it and how they got everything to come together so perfectly. At the end of our training program, we’ll all be doing the same thing. For me, that’s too much to think about right now.
When everything is over Alyx and I head to a bar next door. Charlie is on his way to pick me up and Alyx’s boyfriend is also on his way. We’re there a few minutes when my phone beeps with a text from Charlie saying he’s out front. I hug her goodbye and race outside to jump in his car, so happy to see him I can barely form words. I just want to calm down.
“Thanks for coming to get me.” I smile at him.
“Of course.” he nods.
In my head I had gone back and forth between wanting to ask him to go out for drinks and just staying home. At this point I was fine either way. As I was about to ask he piped up and said “ I want a martini. Do you mind if we stop at the store?”
“Not at all. I was going to ask you if you wanted to get drinks tonight.” I smile.
We both admit that neither of us are in great moods and get to the store rather quickly.
“I was thinking about making some muffins for breakfast tomorrow.” he says as we’re wandering.
“That would be fabulous.”
We find the muffin mix, alcohol and a few other things before checking out and heading home.
Once settled in the kitchen he makes the martinis, carefully garnishing my sweet one with fruit and his “dirty” one with olives after turning off the light and lighting a candle. For the first time all day I sit back and exhale.
It doesn’t take long for martini number one to be consumed. I’m on the edge of wanting another and saying no because I’m interested in functioning tomorrow. When he asks I find myself saying yes though thinking I’m fine an will be fine.
As I float into comfortable drunkenness I talk his ear off. Wine appears on the table and is consumed by both of us. I watch him get up and put together the batter for the muffins and bake them. I have no concept of time, or what it is I’m saying at this point. When he sits down with me again, I look at his eyes and notice that everything around me is spinning. Oops. Too. Much. Alcohol. Why did I do this? It always sounds like a good idea at the time.
“Darlin’. The room is spinning.” I grin.
“Uh oh. Hang on.” he gets up and pours a glass of water. “Drink this.”
I do and he looks at my hands. “We need to get your lotion on.”
I went to the doctor for my dermatitis a few weeks ago. If it weren’t for Charlie applying the medicated cream to my busted skin I’d have no fingers left. I’m embarrassed to admit that sometimes, on some level or another I almost enjoy the pain in my hands because it gives me something else to focus on rather than deal with what’s in my head. I’d like to deal with my head but I don’t know how so until then, I’m going to let my hands crack and bleed and maybe eat a cookie or several until I can figure it out. Of course doing these things pulls me farther away from figuring it out but I’ll get tired of this game eventually…
I’m trying to breathe while watching Charlie’s warm hands spread the thin cream over my fingers. The room is still spinning. I hate this feeling. I drink more water while he works on the other hand.
“Ok. You’re all set. Lets get you to bed.” he says, screwing the top back on the cream.
I nod, carefully stand, walk into his room, and fall into bed.
The next morning I’m so deeply saddened I don’t want to move. My head doesn’t hurt but I’m moving slowly. This is why I don’t drink. There is always a chance that I’m going to be eaten up with grief the next morning. There is no pinpointing what it is or what it feels like but really deep sadness that I don’t know what to do with and can’t explain which eventually makes me angry.
Charlie makes coffee and breakfast. I don’t have to be at work until one. He’s on and off the computer, washing dishes etc…while I’m still immobile at the table. He’s talking and walks into the living room where I can’t hear him. I stand up and follow him as he adjusts the music that’s playing. He walks toward me, heading for the kitchen again and I wrap my arms around him and hug him. His arms wrap around me and pull me further into him. I breathe him in, listening to his heart beat and press my palms into his back. Neither of us say a word as we rub each other’s backs. My eyes fill up with tears and before I can stop them, they’re overflowing and I’m shaking.
“Hey.” Charlie’s quiet voice vibrates against my ear. “ Hey, what’s going on?” he asks gently.
I don’t know. I can’t speak, just keep crying. His hand finds the back of my head and rubs it while I hang on tighter to him.
“C’mere. Let me rub your back.” he says leading me to his room. I lay down on my stomach while he rubs the tightened muscles. My tears stop and start and stop again.
After a while he stops and tells me to run home, get ready for work and come back for lunch. “Kay.” I smile, get my things and go home where I stand under a scalding spray of water for an eternity before realizing that I need to get moving. I get dressed, put on make-up, get my work things in order and walk back to Charlie’s feeling somewhat human again.
Lunch is ready when I get there and he kisses me hello. We’re quiet when we sit down and I watch him for a minute trying to speak without crying again.
“I am…” I start, still struggling to get this out. “…the luckiest person on this planet to have you.”
He smiled and said, “I’m glad to have you too.”

April 1...

2009-04-05T13:24:00.001-07:00

"What is that noise?" I think to myself as I'm being jolted out of sleep by what seems to be a phone. My phone. Ringing. Probably should pick it up. I can't move though and close my eyes again. Curiosity gets the best of me and I can't get back to sleep. I pick up the phone and see it's Rob's dad. I press the voicemail prompt and listen to the message. He's calling to say hello and asking how things are up here. "I'm not going to call you on the twentieth. That's your day and mine too. It's going to suck but we have to do it our own way." I continue listening until the end of the message and hang up. I sit up, put the phone back on the table and explode. Rage fills every inch of me when I suddenly see where I am, alone in my room in Chicago. It's like there's a teeny little part of me that doesn't believe Rob is gone. Then something happens that reminds me of it and it sends me into a fit that needs to be restrained by a straight jacket. Tears fell so hard and fast I couldn't see. It's April first. I can't help but to think what I was doing this time last year. It was a Tuesday, so I was probably at work, later talking on the phone to Rob until one of us fell asleep I assume. I'd be leaving for Chicago for interview number two with Art+Science two days later. He'd be gone two weeks after that.
I stand up and go to the kitchen, making my oatmeal like always. I have no interest in it, the tears starting again. Everything is quiet. I'm trying to keep still and not make too much noise. I eat without tasting anything, get dressed, put my laptop in it's bag and head to the coffee shop I like to go to when I don't want to be social. I set up in a room in the back of the place and try to write but that turns into mostly staring out the window, thinking, remembering, and crying.
My phone beeps next to me with a text message alert. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It's Charlie saying that after a shower he's ready to go whenever I am. I text him back, telling him where I am and say that I too need a shower. We're going out to Shaumberg to the mall up there. I finish typing a sentence and shut the computer down. I'm still operating slower than molasses while walking home and taking that much needed shower. Still crying, still feeling...I don't know. Confused maybe? How is it that I care so much for both Charlie and Rob all at the same time when Rob's not here anymore? How do I even convey that message?
I get dressed and text Charlie. Twenty minutes later he's at my door and off we go. I'm completely exhausted and surprisingly enough, haven't felt the effects of the super strong coffee I just consumed. I feel my brain is split in two at the moment. On one side, I'm walking down N. Highland to get bagels with Rob on a Sunday morning and on the other side I'm right here next to yet another incredible human listening to his sweet voice tell me about his work wondering how did I get here? I'm scared of falling for Charlie because where does that leave Rob? Is this even fair? I can't imagine what it's like to be on the receiving end of my grief.
We get to IKEA first. Charlie's circling the parking lot looking for a spot. It looks as if the economy hasn't affected this place at all. It's a Wednesday morning and packed. He pulls into a spot next to a black Honda Accord with a shiny South Carolina plate on the back. Upon seeing it, I exhale and get out of the car, almost feeling the effects of this morning melt away. It's like Rob's little reminder that he's still here just not like he was. It still doesn't make it any easier to understand.
Charlie and I wander the store, stopping every so often to investigate something. He takes my hand as we express our opinions on various pieces of furniture and room designs. Once we've seen all we wanted to see we head to the mall. We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering into and out of stores. I feel perfectly content waching his decision making process over various articles of clothing.
"I think I'm done." he tells me after buying shoes.
"Kay." I nod.
I run my fingers through his hair while he drives us back to his place. Once there I'm laying on my stomach across his bed watching him carefully remove the tags from the pants he just bought.
"I know there's a faster way of doing this." he says while snipping away at the tiny threads that bind the tags to the garment.
Yup. I think to myself. I usually rip them off. I smile though, and don't say anything.
"But I want to do it right." he carefully investigates the fabric.
I smile and think Rob would do the same. My eyes move from watching Charlie's fingers to his face. His eyes catch mine and he smiles before going back to the tags. I continue to watch him trying to contain the giggling that is trying to erupt out of me. He looks at me again, moves the pants to the side, along with the scissors and already cut tags, and kisses me. I wrap my arms around him, completely, totally, and utterly grateful for his presence.

Show...

2009-03-13T06:29:00.000-07:00

I step out of the cab a few blocks from my house and race home. I couldn't sit at the traffic light any longer. I'm already late and anxious.
At home I fly down the hall and into my room where I throw my things down and jump under a hot spray of water, taking a shower that felt like thirty seconds.
After drying off, I glance at the clock. I still have forty five minutes before I have to be ready. I exhale for the first time all day. Work was a constant adrenaline rush ending late and having me nervous I would still be running late when Charlie arrived. I had looked forward to this all week. Before leaving on a business trip last week he asked if I'd be interested in going to dinner and a show on Saturday. "Of course!"
I met Charlie a couple of weeks ago at a coffee shop. I was writing in my journal and after refilling his coffee he stopped by my table and said, "Are you writing a book over there?"
His voice caught me by surprise. I looked up at him and smiled. "Somethin' like that." My what sparkly eyes you have I think to myself. Stop it. "It's just my journal."
"What happens when you fill it up?" he nods towards my hands resting on the thick journal.
"I buy a new one."
"Are you serious?" his eyebrows raise.
I nod as if this is the most normal thing in the world, suddenly wondering "doesn't everybody?"
"How long have you been doing that for?" he's firing questions at me fast than I can think and it reminds me of something I do when I like someone.
"About eight years."
"Eight years?! How many of those do you have?" he exclaims.
"Um.. I'm not sure really. Thirty? Forty?"
"You go back and read them?"
"Sometimes." I laugh.
He nods. "I'll let you get back to it."
I return to my writing trying not to giggle. A little while later he's back, after refilling his coffee again asking more questions. I notice he's been in front of a laptop the whole time he's been here.
"Whatcha doin' behind that computer screen?" I smile.
"Procrastinating mostly. Working a little."
I nod.
"Hey, do you mind if I join you?" he asks.
"Not at all."
He sets his coffee down and brings his computer over and closes it.
"I'm Charlie by the way."
...I'm standing inches from my mirror applying my 17th coat of mascara. When I'm satisfied I stand back and think "Lipstick. Where is it?" I go into my room and start looking for a purse to carry. "Umbrella. Hmm... Where did I last see it?"
This is how my brain operates before a date. It's a wonder anything gets done. "Earrings..."
Charlie called me three days after asking for my number at the coffee shop and asked me if I wanted to go to the aquarium with him on Sunday. I had to work so we agreed on dinner after I was finished.
He met me at the salon and we walked across the street to a quiet little sushi place. Dinner turned into drinks by a fireplace at one of my favorite bars. We entertained each other with stories about our life, family, school, and work. It was getting late and I had to be in class the next morning. He walked me home, stopping at my gate and carefully kissing me goodnight.
"I had fun tonight." he smiled at me.
"Me too. Thank you."
"I'll give you a call."
"Ok." I smiled and walked inside.
..."Hairspray. I walk into the bathroom again and spray my carefully styled hair until it no longer moves in pieces but as an entire unit. I'm back to looking for lipstick when I glance at my phone. I have fifteen minutes. I start rummaging a little faster through my make-up drawer.
After dinner with Charlie that Sunday he called a few days later and we decided to go to the aquarium on Thursday. We met at the coffee shop we originally met at and set out to watch the fishes.
While wandering around his hand slowly finds it's way into mine and I suddenly feel like I'm in high school again. The aquarium turns into lunch, which turns into a movie which turns into a brief trip to the suburbs. While driving back I felt we were on I-85 and would soon be under Spaghetti Junction but no, the image in front of us is wide open interstate, and the Chicago skyline. It sometimes doesn't feel real that I'm here. It's like I'm living someone else's life and eventually I'll wake up in my bed under Kat's roof, smile at Rob and and start the day.
"Will you cut my hair?" Charlie asks.
"Of course! I was going to ask you if I could."
"Really?"
"Yup. I miss cutting boy hair." I laugh.
"Does Sunday work for you? I have to fly to Colorado but we could do it before."
"Perfect."
..."found the umbrella, what about the shoes? High heels or low heels?"I pull out the sheer black tights I bought earlier in the week and carefully pulled them on, trying not to forget that I am stil not wearing lipstick. "Hmm... low heels."
Sunday arrives and I let Charlie in to my place. "Sorry about the mess. Kaci's moving out and we haven't been doing much."
He smiled and followed me to my room. I'm pulling out my cutting things and he's bent down looking at my picture on my bookshelf. Three are of Rob, three are of my travels and one is of my family and me on the day Patrick graduated from college. I can see Charlie looking back and forth from picture to picture trying to make a connection somehow.
"Was your brother in the military?"
"Nope. That's Rob..." I look at the picture he's looking at of Rob dressed in his Citadel uniform on the day he graduated. "...my deceased boyfriend." I wasn't hoping to have this discussion just yet but didn't want to remove the pictures before he came over either.
"Oh. I'm sorry." Charlie's eyes don't meet mine.
"Thank you."
I cut his hair, so happy to feel the blades of my shears move over his head. We don't talk much. He watches me in the mirror and I watch his hair take shape, stopping to smile at him every so often.
"So how do you feel about getting dressed up on Saturday and going out for dinner and a show downtown?" he asks.
"Are you serious? That would be amazing!"
"I haven't done that here yet."
"Me either." I smile.
I go to O'hare with him when I'm done with his hair. We say goodbye at security and I take the train home.
...I don't find the damn lipstick I was hoping to wear, so I settle for lipgloss and decide it's good enough. I pick up a bottle of lotion and apply it. It was Rob's favorite. I wore it on our first date and he didn't stop talking about it. I didn't wear anything else until after he died. I move the creamy substance over my arms and look over at the pictures of him on my bookshelf. I smile at the one of him in the car looking at me. For a brief moment I wish so hard that it was him I was going out with tonight. I remember racing home after work on Fridays and getting all fancy for him before he came over, anxiously awaiting his knock on my door so I could sink into him. I barely let him in before squeezing him and melting into his kisses. Guilt fills me up and I stop thinking about anything but getting dressed. I step into a black and magenta dress and zip it up the back. My phone beeps with a text message. I snatch it up and smile when I read a message from Charlie. "I'm at your door." I race down the hall passed Kaci.
"Well look at you." she says to my back.
I turn and grin at her, hand on the doorknob. "I'm so excited!" I fling the door open and run downstairs, opening the front door and exhaling.
"Hi!" I beam.
"Hey." Charlie smiles at me. "You look nice."
"So do you."
He's dressed in a suit, holding his phone. "You ready?"
"Almost. Come up. I need to get my coat."
Minutes later we're out the door, my arm looped through his.
"So I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work. I went to Evanston thinking you were there, but you weren't and I was almost late getting back." he tells me.
"Seriously?!" I squeal at the sweetness of this gesture.
He nods.
"Thank you though. I appreciate the thought."
"I wouldn't make a good stalker apparantly." he smiles.
He hails us a cab and opens the door for me. A few minutes later we're downtown, pulling over to the curb. He gets out and offers his hand. I smile and take it, sliding out of the cab and onto the pavement underneath the glittering lights of the theater. We're going to see the Broadway musical "Chicago."
"Wow." My eyes are about to pop out of my head. He grins and we walk in.
Once seated we quietly chat about our week until the show starts. "This is my life!" I'm squealing to myself. "I'm really here, really doing this and it's so fun I can hardly breathe!"
The show is one of the best I've seen. We both talk about how this is what we thought our lives would be like once moving here. (he moved from Madison three years ago) I wonder how many people make a habit of going to the theater...
We have dinner at a cute Italian place around the corner. I'm telling him about Atlanta, Kat and how I met her.
"She's coming to Chicago in April!" I exclaim.
"When? Don't say the weekend of the eighteenth."
I laugh. "Yup, that's when she'll be here."
"Damn. I'm going to be in Wisconsin. I want to meet her."
"You'd like her. I'm trying to decide if I'm going to fly back with her. Um. Rob..died on April twentieth. I can't figure out if I want to be home then or not. I took the day off work. It's weird. I don't know how I'm going to feel...if I'll want to be in Atlanta, or in Chicago with friends or completely alone wandering around aimlessly..." I trail off trying to take in air. His hand reaches across the table and takes mine. I smile and look away.
"Don't do it." he says.
"Do what?" I almost snap. "Cry? I'm not. Why is everyone so afraid of a crying person? I can talk about him and not lose it. Sometimes it catches me off guard though, but I'm ok with that. I don't think a lot of people are though."
Charlie watches my face as if he's waiting for me to say something else. The subject begins to change until we realize we're the only two people in the restaurant and decide we should probably go.
It isn't until the next day that I find myself crying for no reason. I wonder if I'm going to cry after every date I have with someone. It's like something else is stirring itself up in me and it's only way out is through my tears but I can't put words to it. I enjoy the company of another person but find myself scared to give anything to them. I'm terrified of getting hurt, terrified of getting too far away from my feelings for Rob, terrified of my own tears, of seeming unstable.
Despite all these feelings, it still doesn't keep me from exploring this path I seem to be on at the moment...

Pause...

2009-03-09T06:02:00.000-07:00

...life is coming at me faster than I can keep up with at the moment. It's been unbelievable but overwhelming at the same time. It's hindering my writing process currently. Everytime I go to write, I get introduced to another experience or another person that shows me something worth writing about and it all get's jumbled in my head. I'm trying to keep up, make sense of it, and eventually come up with something else to put here in all this space, but for the time being... I have to go and figure it all out.