Wishes, dreams, hopes and shattered hearts
It hit this week. After many months of telling people I'm getting divorced, and feeling nearly completely even-keeled about it, the darkness has finally descended. I'm not sure what instigated it. Could it have been a weekend full of hot sex, followed by the realization that perhaps that was a poor choice for someone who is already emotionally unstable? Could it have been Matt's departure for Boston and the ensuing emails back and forth about the division of the assets which has been all over the board? Maybe the powerful influence of the moon? Too many hot days without a break?
Does it really matter?
I have spent this week weeping over glasses of good red wine, holding babies screaming their lungs out and unable to be comforted, watching whimsical park theatre, eating ice cream, and chatting online with friends. I've listened to everything from Indigo Girls to KMFDM to This Mortal Coil. At any given moment I might be experiencing the tremendous pleasures of taking in the moment, surrounded by friends or alone on a deck, or I could be driving to work, tears falling onto my blouse as I weep uncontrollably, influenced by a sadness I cannot pin down. It feels like my soul is being ripped apart, pulled into a million directions. Attempts to stay grounded, to sit with the feelings, to retain some semblance of perspective fail me repeatedly. I know these must be normal experiences for those whose lives are devastated by the forces of divorce. The compass by which you have guided your life for so many years ceases to work. The magnetic polarities fritz out. Which way is up? Which way is down? It all feels like falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole.
I really try to take in the good moments when they are happening: the sight of Mt. Rainier, purple and wrapped in creamy orangesicle colors at sunset or sunrise, my city as the sun sets over Gasworks park with a crowd of people dancing and friends nearby, my cats curled up on the sofa together snuggled up, the sound of coworkers laughing in the kitchen in the morning. The world is full of simple pleasures. I try not to miss them because there are so many moments where I cannot hear or see those things, instead I am centered in my heart, feeling the amazing pain that loss creates inside of it. Is there any other kind of emotional pain except for loss? I am beginning to think there is not. We experience loss regularly, loss of friends, family, dreams, plans, ways of seeing or being with the world. If I listed out all that I have lost, and weighted it, though, I would never be able to make it weigh as much as all the amazing things I have gained. Each painful experience in my life has led me through the darkness and back out into the light, filling me with joy and love once again. There is always the capacity within ourselves to love and hope again, even on the darkest of days. I am working on loving myself for a change of pace, and remaining open to loving, even if it is not returned equally. I believe that putting more love into the world is not a wasted effort, just as I believe learning is never wasted.
It's hard right now. I am working hard to fill my time seeing friends, reaching out for the support I so desperately need. I don't know how to talk about it, though. I am unprepared to cry on the shoulders that might be offered. If I open up that door in front of someone else and make myself that vulnerable I am afraid I will never be able to stop crying. I never thought it would be so hard, even though I had been warned. Like so many things in life, the only thing that can prepare you for the experience is the experience itself. How lame.
A big thank you goes out to all of the people in my life who have offered support. I know you are out there, even if we don't talk often, even if we are not as close as we once were. Know that I am thinking of you, and that my love for you has not diminished. You have touched my life, and I am amazed at how that has changed me. I am very, very blessed. Some day, when this story is less fresh, we will look back at it and have good laughs, and reflect on how much I have grown and changed since the experience. I look forward to that.
Does it really matter?
I have spent this week weeping over glasses of good red wine, holding babies screaming their lungs out and unable to be comforted, watching whimsical park theatre, eating ice cream, and chatting online with friends. I've listened to everything from Indigo Girls to KMFDM to This Mortal Coil. At any given moment I might be experiencing the tremendous pleasures of taking in the moment, surrounded by friends or alone on a deck, or I could be driving to work, tears falling onto my blouse as I weep uncontrollably, influenced by a sadness I cannot pin down. It feels like my soul is being ripped apart, pulled into a million directions. Attempts to stay grounded, to sit with the feelings, to retain some semblance of perspective fail me repeatedly. I know these must be normal experiences for those whose lives are devastated by the forces of divorce. The compass by which you have guided your life for so many years ceases to work. The magnetic polarities fritz out. Which way is up? Which way is down? It all feels like falling, like Alice down the rabbit hole.
I really try to take in the good moments when they are happening: the sight of Mt. Rainier, purple and wrapped in creamy orangesicle colors at sunset or sunrise, my city as the sun sets over Gasworks park with a crowd of people dancing and friends nearby, my cats curled up on the sofa together snuggled up, the sound of coworkers laughing in the kitchen in the morning. The world is full of simple pleasures. I try not to miss them because there are so many moments where I cannot hear or see those things, instead I am centered in my heart, feeling the amazing pain that loss creates inside of it. Is there any other kind of emotional pain except for loss? I am beginning to think there is not. We experience loss regularly, loss of friends, family, dreams, plans, ways of seeing or being with the world. If I listed out all that I have lost, and weighted it, though, I would never be able to make it weigh as much as all the amazing things I have gained. Each painful experience in my life has led me through the darkness and back out into the light, filling me with joy and love once again. There is always the capacity within ourselves to love and hope again, even on the darkest of days. I am working on loving myself for a change of pace, and remaining open to loving, even if it is not returned equally. I believe that putting more love into the world is not a wasted effort, just as I believe learning is never wasted.
It's hard right now. I am working hard to fill my time seeing friends, reaching out for the support I so desperately need. I don't know how to talk about it, though. I am unprepared to cry on the shoulders that might be offered. If I open up that door in front of someone else and make myself that vulnerable I am afraid I will never be able to stop crying. I never thought it would be so hard, even though I had been warned. Like so many things in life, the only thing that can prepare you for the experience is the experience itself. How lame.
A big thank you goes out to all of the people in my life who have offered support. I know you are out there, even if we don't talk often, even if we are not as close as we once were. Know that I am thinking of you, and that my love for you has not diminished. You have touched my life, and I am amazed at how that has changed me. I am very, very blessed. Some day, when this story is less fresh, we will look back at it and have good laughs, and reflect on how much I have grown and changed since the experience. I look forward to that.