Good Lord, I’m back in my own space. It’s been a journey. I once again put myself through Hell. It has a different flavor every time. I have put Mark through Hell but he’s being a gentleman and continually lending a hand. He takes responsibility for moving too fast. Last night he looked at me and said, “You’re lucky to have me, you know.” I just looked at him and gently nodded. “I know.” I think I thanked him. I don’t want to take advantage of him, and I don’t want to build a life as a partner with him. I took a chance. I saw the potential, but once I took on the role, I felt strained, strapped, trapped, imprisoned. I felt ill. My anxiety level increased. My wellness level decreased. I became unhappy. I looked towards Massachusetts as an out. Instead, I got the universal push of Andrew deciding to move out of my place. He held to his word and vacated with everything still intact. I only had to clean for about two hours, and there are no damages done, at all. Except to my cast iron skillet which Mark is certain an SOS pad will fix. I disagree with him. I think Andrew stripped the black iron down to some underlying metal content. I wonder what the heck he made in that pan.
Back to Mark. He’s a wonderful human being, and I am much happier not living with him out in Jefferson County. I told him he could get rid of his place and move into my space, but after this morning, I am not so sure that’s a good plan. I got physically riled up and angry (mama hen’s feathers all plumed up) because he showed me naked photos of the first lady. First I wanted to vomit, then I wanted to hit him, and I felt crazy angry mad. Holy shit. No joke. I yelled at him for making me see those images. Had he asked if I’d like to see naked pics of Mrs. President I would have made him feel like an asshole for asking and for looking. Instead, I blew up in anger that he forced me to look. And then I thought about posting on Facebook that if you’re looking at naked pictures of the first lady, you are part of what is wrong with this country. Then I realized what a horse shit story that was and I let it all go. However, I do not want to live with Mark.
I can barely stand living with myself which reminds me of something I want to share.
The year was 1999 and I’d just met a mechanic in Milford, MA who was brutally honest and straightforward. I was instantly in love with his sharp, hard, brilliant, shiny truth. He invited me to fly in his little plane with him. I could not possibly say no. After we spent hours in each other’s company he had to get away from me. He wanted to part ways while I wanted never to leave his side. He was it. I wanted him as my partner. He told me, “Honey, I can barely stand being with myself for this long, I can just imagine how you feel.” Those may not be the exact words. He was the first person I met who told me honestly they had a hard time being with themselves. I was intrigued. Mightily. Five months later, I was moving out of his place back to Des Moines, Iowa to be near Zac. My heart breaks a thousand times just thinking about it – my face starts crumpling up and the tears come. And I weep. Not just because I was dumb enough to go that far away from Zac or that I was forced to find meaning to life after losing status of full time motherhood to Zac, but for the incredible loss I experienced in meeting and losing Pete.
And I have to go do a yoga demo in an hour a half. I have so much doubt. I did a yoga demo last week. I felt so weak, but received encouragement afterwards. I feel really weak, still. So, back to NOW.
Here I am. 48. Prune-like. Tiny. But Mighty. Unpredictable. Flighty. Overly sensitive to everything. Heart aching, badly. My place is a mess of unfolded clothes – the chaos of transition. I am free. I am not dependent on him for transportation. I am not 45 minutes away from work. I am capable. I have everything I need, right here; right now. I am resilient and I have my own best interest in mind so that I can serve others from a place of pure wholeness. I crave purity, perfection, joy, light, love, and peace. I have to be the change I seek. What a fricking amazing journey. So thankful for the visit from strong woman friend, Mary Ann. My goodness, woman, you’re awesome. I love the way you bless others with your kind words and gentle interest. I also love how straight forward you are, and how unafraid you are. Thanks for spreading goodness by letting your basic goodness shine through.
I can’t believe it’s March 1st. And I’m free. I feel like I will never complain about the difficulty of transportation again, but yesterday I had to tell my Uber driver that if the break lights in front of him turn red, he needs to step on his breaks. I explained to him that I have a disease about being on the road – that when I see break lights go off in front of us, but I don’t feel the breaks start in the vehicle I’m in, my body re-experiences the trauma of the accident I had with my father and brother on January 17, 2017. I relive that shit every time I drive with someone and I don’t know how to stop it. The bus is fine, the bike is fine. Shit, walking 3 miles to work is not a problem but commuting 45 minutes each way for work? I can’t. I won’t. Sorry Universe, I just wasn’t ready. I didn’t mean to cause harm. I will never try to incorporate that kind of drive into my daily routine again. No matter how sweet and needy the lover.